Echoes of a Forgotten Opera
by GuitarGirl97
Summary: What would you do if the one person you truly loved forgot everything about you? That you even existed? Erik had often wished for a chance to re-write the dark past between himself and Christine...but if love is forged by a lie, then is it love at all?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer; ****I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.**

**Author Note;**** Hello fellow fanfictioners; finally, after much procrastination and laziness on my part, I am starting my new story! This one is called 'Echoes of a Forgotten Opera' and takes the characters of POTO away from Paris in a chain of events that none of them could have ever predicted... It is completely separate from Someone Worth Living For.**

**Some of you might know from reading my other story that I like to update fairly regularly, weekly if possible, but there will come a point this year where I will have to completely stop fan fiction as crazy exams and revision take over my life. When this does happen; I'm not abandoning! I will be back- I promise! :-D**

**Okay, quick briefing on Erik's past. I'm going with the same back story as Someone Worth Living For, which suggests that Erik is 36 and Christine is 18 after the prologue. It will soon become clear in the prologue as to where this fic is set in terms of the actual POTO story- which, by the way, is a mash up of book/musical/film for this fic. Only change from SWLF Erik is that he spent a little longer with his gypsy captors before escaping- perhaps until he was about 8 or 9. **

**Soooo...without further ado...it's onto Erik and co for the fic!**

_There is no love that is not an echo- Theodor Adorno._

**Prologue  
****(Opera Populaire, at the climax of the shocking new opera 'Don Juan Triumphant')**

As the surge of orchestral melody that flooded through the palatial auditorium of the world renowned Opera Populaire, the gem of Paris and the musical hub of France, fell to barely a whisper on the lips of a child, there was a moment of horrified silence through the crowd, the endless rows of well-dressed faces all masks of horror and disapproval. What an opera! A fiery, dark manifestation of all that was satanic and sinful, thrown together with that horrendously provocative dancing-! Many wives, bedecked in various glittering jewels that winked as they caught the light, had a firm grip on their somewhat red-cheeked husbands, bristling with the indignation of such a thing being shown to them of a public stage- a _public stage!_

It was as if Andre and Firmin could see the waves of horrified anger radiating from each and every mortified aristocrat in their audience. With worried frowns, they turned to their young companion in the box that gazed over the stage, seeing that his eyes were locked upon another pair, his hand clenching onto the rail of the box as he grimaced down at them, willing one incompetent policeman to slip on the trigger, to simply shoot that monster-

"That's not our tenor, is it?" one manager hissed as he stared down at the cloaked individual, holding the troublesome soprano Christine Daae captive with his hypnotic voice and his hands, caressing her so that her head went limp on her neck and her eyes rolled in their sockets. It was disgusting- pure indecency!

"No, you fool!" the other, his counterpart, hissed back. His face and shirt showed his nerves though his voice hid it well- he looked as if he had been swimming in a lake of sweat rather than watching an opera in his own box. Both stole another glance at the Vicomte, whose eyes still had not left the couple on the stage as they stood frozen in their own embrace, as if lost to the sea of waiting audience members and the irate managers. But Raoul de Chagny knew, with blinding and angered certainty, that the hideous gargoyle who stood holding his fiancée and beloved in his clawing grip was perfectly aware of the gentry and the policemen- it was a game to him, a warped, twisted game, in which they were all is pawns.

"This will end tonight." He murmured to himself, turning quickly to the strained faces of the managers, who were leaning forward in complete unison to catch the barely uttered words as they fell from his almost cherubic lips. "Monsieur Andre, Monsieur Firmin...in a few moments, we should give the signal. I know that the man on your stage is not Piangi- it is the Opera Ghost!"

On the stage, unaware that his name was in whispered discussion amongst managers and the rather agitated fop, Erik gingerly stroked the cascading curls of Christine Daae, closing his eyes in dreamlike bliss as a small smile crept onto her face- she was beautiful, achingly beautiful, and she did not flee from his touch. As if to prove this to himself now, he tentatively moved to release her from his caresses only to touch her face, the black gloves a stark contrast to her creamy, moonbeam skin. Her eyes fluttered open, the ecstasy fading slightly as reality broke through the fog of confusion and desire.

He could tell, as soon as her eyes were open and perceptive again, that she knew who he was. She spun back from him, her hand flying to her throat and then slipping in an almost provocative manner to rest upon her heart. She looked so troubled, so torn as she let her gaze slip to the floor and stare resolutely at the stage she knew like her own hand, and so Erik reached out again, not expecting her to take his hand and grip it as it were a lifeline in whatever stormy sea she found herself drowning in.

"Christine." He barely whispered the word, suddenly aware that the audience were frowning down at them in their silent confusion, expecting an opera. Erik knew how his opera was supposed to end- Don Juan takes Aminta and she allows him to, thinking that he is Passarino. The love is forced, a lie, and yet to Don Juan the crying maiden is simply another woman he has conquered, another name to swell the lists of his lusts. It was as if ice had smothered the fire of Erik's anger- he no longer felt cheated, or desperate for revenge, for if he took it- if he forced Christine- it would be a lie.

It felt as if someone had punched their curled fist straight into his chest to stop his beating heart and hold it, squeezing it until he wanted to fall at her feet and weep out his sorrow, his wretched apology. For he was no Don Juan, no unfeeling lecherous seducer, and she was no Aminta- Christine Daae meant the world and more to him and his shattered heart, and he was not about to seize her love if she did not give it in consent. If her love was a lie, it would be as good as hate to his broken soul.

"Christine, I am...I am so sorry..." he choked a little on the words, seeing her head shoot up in alarm, her eyes instantly on his, searching for something in his eyes that begged her to see the truth, the whole pitiful truth, of his words. "I will never...I will never torment you again, Christine...please...go to your Vicomte, I beg you..."

He stopped the words before they became an unintelligible mess of sobs and moans of sorrow, desperate to retain a little of his pride- oh, how Nadir was going to relish in this, proved right again. He took her face in his hands again, feeling her tremble a little in his hold, and he bowed his head so that his forehead met hers before he allowed himself to cry silent tears, dribbling miserably down the surface of his mask and trickling in their melancholy stream onto Christine's face.

"Please, forgive me Christine, forgive me." He started to cry in shaking whispers, feeling her hands creep across his face, nimble fingers barely resting on his flesh or the mask, silently ghosting ever closer to the edge of his loathed facial covering. "You have saved me, from a life in the dark yet I...I have plunged myself back into that lonely hell- you don't deserve that too. Go to your love, Christine...that's all I ask of-"

And then the audience erupted into gasps and horrified murmurings again, pleased that the actors had not completely abandoned their storyline yet utterly insulted by the path this story had taken- so utterly inappropriate! As the majority of the aristocracy watched with narrowed eyes, already penning their letters of complaint inside their outraged minds, Raoul de Chagny felt his heart slam into his ribcage, his breath gone from his body, his head spinning as his eyes stayed locked upon that terrible scene-

That was his Christine, his fiancée, his love- and she had just willingly slipped her arms around the vile neck of the monster, the hellish beast...and had placed her lips upon his own in a kiss that seemed to shine with...with...Raoul turned away, anger bubbling under his own skin now and coursing through his veins. He wrenched his eyes away from the stage and turned to the astonished managers, his eyes wild and dancing with rage, silently demanding for them to put an end to this sham, this endlessly horrifying spectacle that was replaying through his mind again and again even though his back was now facing the stage, his eyes no longer stuck upon the scene he had never envisaged. Surely Christine couldn't actually return that monsters deluded affections? He was hideous- a complete madman!

Erik was, for once, thinking and agreeing with his rival as he forced himself to stop shaking and to seize the miraculous snatch of happiness that had been granted to him somehow. He slipped his hands into the mass of gorgeous brown curls, tasting roses and honey sweet delight as his lips frantically sought out hers, somehow awakening from their long dormant slumber and coming alive in harmony with her own. He could feel her hands, tracing his face and neck so gently, as if he were delicate and precious. No-one had thought him precious or treasured before, and he found himself shaking too hard to continue with the stolen kiss, breaking contact and stepping back as his hands came to rest at either side of her perfect face.

She looked at him then, her eyes set with unshakeable resolve, and his heart seemed to freeze before beginning to pound erratically inside him as she slowly yet purposefully took the lapels of his jacket and pulled him close again.

"Erik." She whispered, his name sounding like an answer to an unspoken question, suddenly bringing all the scattered shards of his life together and fixing them in place, mending him and his broken soul in that moment as he stared into her wide, pleading brown eyes. "Erik you must stop imploring me to leave you, as forcing me to do such a thing will shatter what remains of my heart. You...you must forgive me, Erik, for it is I and I alone who has made this ordeal more torturous and painful than it needed to be. If only I had not been so foolish-!"

"Christine, I don't understand." He turned his head to look upon the now fuming audience, many of whom were starting to get up and storm out of the auditorium as the actors engaged in their own private conversation and refused to continue the storyline. A feline smile suddenly appeared on his face for a brief second, before it faded back to a frown of confusion.

"Oh, Erik." She was nearly laughing, or crying, touching his exposed cheek again and this time allowing her trembling hand to linger there. "I am such a fool. But the lie I have created and tried to live, in order to escape the feelings that seem to control me and make me act in ways that scare me, is too much to continue. I cannot hold the facade anymore, I must tell you..."

"Tell me?" he repeated in a voice that sounded so hopeful, so desperately hopeful that he might break down into schoolboy tears.

"Tell you that...that for a length of time I can never hope to know for sure...my heart has been entirely yours." She paused for a second, frowning in slight annoyance as the words did not come as she had imagined them. "No matter how wrong it may be to those who stand and stare...Erik. I am in love with you."

A comical, wild giggle did escape her lips then as the tears began to collect and flow down her face, and his grip on her tightened, as if trying to snatch and cling onto the shreds of a dream, not wanting to wake and be thrown from warm bliss to cold reality again.

"You...no, you can't mean that you..."

"But I do. I know it as definitely as I know my own past, Erik." She smiled at him, that honest smile he had not seen for so long- it was as if that smile was the proof for him, and his heart felt warm inside his chest rather than a dead weight. "I love you, Erik- and how wondrous it feels to say it!"

Erik opened his mouth to reply, his head swimming with ecstatic thoughts that filled the empty spaces reserved for self-piteous wallowing and melancholy shattered dreams, but before the shining words could escape his mouth there was a deep groaning sound, as if the gates of hell were opening beneath them. The ground rumbled in duet with that awful groan, leading his eyes away from the stunned face of Christine to look up- look up in horror at the great sparkling mass of chandelier that had broken free and was now ripping its way through the ceiling towards them, spewing and spitting crystals and plaster and dust as it came charging at them, unleashing panic and frenzy amongst the now terrified audience.

Erik gripped Christine tight round the waist, feeling her turn rigid with fear. A quick glance to the managerial box- there was Andre, Firmin and Raoul frozen in complete terror for their beloved (for money, or for...well, Erik felt rather strongly that the Vicomte's emotions for Christine had a lot to do with her celebrity status as well as her glowing personality) soprano- and then his eyes wrenching back to the enormous chandelier... Erik knew that there was no time to run. His legs felt like huge blocks of ice, immobile and useless. Could he throw Christine into the orchestra pit and save her?

Suddenly, as the chandelier reached the end of its journey tearing through the ceiling and starting to swing towards them, a deadly pendulum, Erik recalled the trapdoor. With no hope of ever reaching the lever at the edge of the stage, he brought his foot down as hard as he could on the ageing wood of the stage, and then the other, and with a great cry he jumped and brought them both down at once, feeling the wood of the stage give beneath his desperate feet. Suddenly, without warning or indication, they were falling- tumbling through the air and feeling it rush around them. But instead of coming to a bruised halt beneath the stage, they continued to fall- Erik had luckily left his own trapdoor open, the one he had used to reach the performance this evening in the first place, and the air surged about them in an arctic blast until, with surprising pain, they landed right in the centre of the icily cold lake.

As the sudden force of the cold water hit him, Erik felt Christine fall from his strong grip. He instantly started to thrash in the water, flailing desperately until at last his hands came into contact with her. He was an extraordinarily strong swimmer, despite his gaunt and deathlike frame, and so the journey to the shore of the lake took mere moments. Once out, and standing dripping, he picked her up and carried her into his awaiting house, trying not to linger on how the drenched clothes clung to her slender frame. His heart stuttered and he angrily averted his eyes, storming into the bedroom made for her and laying her onto the bed, stepping back instantly and moving to the edge of the room, feeling guilty and shameful somehow.

Christine sat up straight away, shooting him a look that questioned his need to carry her like an invalid into this house, getting off of the bed but draping a coverlet around her shoulders, her saturated curls dripping and clinging miserably to her back, but she still resembled a goddess to Erik.

She approached him cautiously, sensing his unease and trying not to laugh at him for it, stepping slowly and carefully and trailing the coverlet like a cape behind her. She reached him, and at once put her arms back around his neck, as if they belonged there.

"We just nearly died." She said in a very matter of fact voice. "Thank you for acting so quickly- I was useless. Was...was Raoul safe in the managers box?"

"Yes." Erik replied in an indifferent voice, seeing her shoulders sag in relief and at once telling himself to not worry- she loved _him_, Erik the monster, Erik the freak, poor unhappy Erik who was destined to be unhappy no longer, against the fate decided by his hideous face he would be happy! Christine reached out and stroked his face, her hands like silk against the mauled, mutilated and disgusting twists and lumps of flesh- then he froze. How did she have her hands on his ugly corpse of a face?! Where was his mask?! "Christine, get off of me! Don't look at me, I beg you, don't look at me!"

"Erik!" she gasped, wrenching her hand back and staring in irritation as he hid his scarred flesh with his trembling hands, backing away from her as if distance between them would protect her from the ugly sight. "Stop backing away from me! It is only you that appears to have a hate of your face at the present time- your mask came off when we fell into the lake. If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can retrieve it together, but please for goodness sakes remove your hands from your face! I've told you, at long last, that I love you- and that means that I love all of you, including the parts that aren't perfect."

As she strode crossly off and out of the house, Erik stared after her in wonder before urging his frozen feet to follow her. She seemed so sure of herself now, so strong- when had foolish, naive little Christine Daae matured so much? He felt as if he had somehow been unconscious or indeed blind though this change in her, and as his feet moved quicker and quicker along the macabre carpet of his gloomy abode he felt a smile play once again at his lips.

He found her wading through the lake, struggling not to laugh at her as she tripped a little and managed to dunk her head well and truly into the water again, before she at last took the mask that lay floating upon the lake and turned to return to him, her face flooding with teasing anger as she saw him laughing.

"Erik!" she cried in indignation, starting to fight back through the water to him, her face coloured red with embarrassment and anger. "Don't you dare laugh at me as I struggle through this horribly cold lake of yours to find your mask for you!"

"I'm terribly sorry Christine." Erik spluttered, suddenly incapable of holding back the laughter that battled against his pursed mouth, echoing out into the cavern and making his eyes light up as he threw his head back and laughed again and again. Christine finally reached the shore and felt her heart stutter to see him so stupidly happy.

"You should be!" she replied in mock anger, handing the mask to him and turning away to give him a moment to compose himself. She hated it that he needed that facial cover to feel human in her presence, but then she had screamed in his face so many times- he had to think she was a shallow fool. "You know, when I first saw your- your face and was terrified...I am not that stupid little girl anymore, Erik. The fear I felt upon unmasking you was...was due to your face, I will not lie, but it was more that I had done something so incredibly altering- unmasking the angel to find a man underneath. I promise that your face has never been a reason for me to hold back my emotions. I felt wrong for loving you, as if it was incorrect, and it was a frightening thing to admit that the man who was supposed to be evil was in fact the only thing my heart craved. And the extent to which I wanted you- it was frightening. But it doesn't frighten me anymore."

"I didn't help matters, and I am sorry for that." Erik muttered, feeling guilt again wash over him as he recalled the countless evil and sadistic things he had done in the last year, feeling his face flood with colour as he recalled the various threats and disasters. No wonder she had been terrified- she must have thought herself insane. "They were all jealous acts- I never wished to scare you. I just...I cannot seem to control myself in matters concerning you, Christine. You make me act impulsively and unfortunately that impulse was often the urge to rip your fops head clean off his shoulders-"

"Fop?!" Christine burst out laughing, tears of hysteria glistening in the corner of each eye. "Erik, that is cruel and uncalled for and yet so...so brilliant!"

"On account of his girlish features and that long hair." Erik chuckled darkly, and Christine reached out only to shove him a little, causing him to stumble and nearly fall into the lake again.

Then she laughed and tried to get away from him, but he caught her and held her over the lake edge, taunting her as he laughed again, the sound so new to him and to her and yet somehow so fitting; it felt as if he had never spent a day without laughter at his lips. She eventually wormed free and took his hand, leading him back towards the house, shivering a little with the cold and the damp clothing that had chilled both of them to the bone now, forcing them to leave this childish hysteria in favour of warmth and a change of clothes.

"You cannot know how I dreamed of this moment. How I wished that you might someday return the love I feel for you, Christine." Erik murmured as they crossed the slippery stone, staring back across the dull expanse of water and then up at the trapdoor they had fallen through, saving their lives and by some morbid twist of fate showing Erik that Christine could even look past his horrific surface in this new blissful reality. "I cannot comprehend it- I feel as if it is all a dream, and when I wake it will be a cruel fall back into reality."

Christine stopped in her progress to the house, coming back to stand with him beside the lake and to hold his hands in her own, her eyes sincere as she looked up at him, bedraggled and dripping with murky water and yet somehow the most serious he had ever seen her.

"Erik...this _is_ reality." She said gently, before bringing his face down closer to hers so that she could kiss him again. Amid the heat and the heavenly sensation of feeling Christine, his Christine, place her arms around him and hold him close to her heart, she moved one hand to his face to slip the mask away again, uncovering the mutilated flesh and before Erik could object, placing her hand against it and softly stroking it, exploring the lumps and bumps of that ugly surface, as if trying to understand it. He could not tear his face back, for then she pressed her lips against that hideous patch of flesh that had plagued and tainted his very existence for all of his life, and he melted against her, inhaling her sweet rose water smell and feeling as if he could laugh or cry- it would make no difference, for he was in heaven.

"I love you with all of my wasted heart, Christine." He murmured.

"And I love you." she replied, her lips just millimetres away from the surface of his skin and the words like kisses themselves. She left the deformity and was about to press her lips to his own again when suddenly Erik felt a searing pain explode into the back of his head, paralysing him momentarily, so that whoever had inflicted the blow could seize his collar and drag him back with all their might.

He stumbled in the confusion, and felt yet another implosion of pain rocket through him as something hard jammed against his back and forced him to the floor. Suddenly feet- he presumed they were feet- resumed their hold upon him, holding him in place against the floor, and as he frantically looked up from where his attacker had him pressed down he saw a scene that made him start to struggle to get free against the iron grip.

Christine was also being dragged, someone's hands around her waist, and she was kicking and screaming as if she were on fire, desperately crying out against the attacker and trying to free herself, her anguished eyes meeting Erik's, seeing his predicament, and at once peaking her hysteria.

"Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing wildly against the hold of the unknown assailant. "You don't understand- I LOVE HIM! Let me go- let us both go!"

She suddenly managed to break free, ripping her already damp clothing as she tore out of the attackers grip and she dove for Erik, her eyes fixed onto his so that he saw every emotion that flickered in those gorgeous brown eyes as the next awful occurrences played out before him in their morbid, soul obliterating manner.

One moment, she was making for where he lay pinned to the ground, and the next her attacker was reaching out for her, trying to grab her but failing, instead pushing her with extraordinary force. She tumbled, caught unaware, and on the slippery rock she could not regain balance. She fell, landing sideways and breaking Erik's heart and soul as her head flew against the rock and cracked against it, the sound ringing out and echoing in the underground setting.

Once her head smashed against the unforgiving stone, she did not move.

"CHRISTINE!" Erik screamed out, struggling as if his life depended on it- and in a way, his life and existence did depend on this mad struggle to free himself from the iron hold of countless feet, to run and take Christine away from this, this attack that he had not anticipated and had been useless against. He had failed to protect her, a fact that burned itself into his soul as he watched uselessly, seeing a man step forwards and lift her unconscious body into the boat that was bobbing silently on the murky expanse of water. He murmured something to another attacker, slipping something into his hand, and then before Erik had the chance to do anything else than writhe on the floor he too climbed into the small boat and sailed away with Christine.

Erik wanted to shut his eyes- to block out the scene that was playing out before his eyes and crushing him as it did. Perhaps this was all a mad dream; that made sense, surely, as Christine couldn't have just admitted to love him. Yes- yes it would all be a dream, a mad and hurtful dream that would crush his very soul but would still be preferable to this horrific occurrence. The sound of her head smashing into the stone floor rang through his vulnerable mind again and again, the image of her still body lying crumpled on the floor forever branded into his memories, and he found that he was sobbing again before he had the chance to stop it. Would a person survive such a trauma to the head?

"Christine." Erik gasped out the word, the panic crushing him as he struggled to breathe, the pressure of an attackers foot pressed unkindly down onto his windpipe making the hideous state of breathlessness even worse. She couldn't be dead, she just couldn't be. His Christine couldn't die like that, crumpled on the floor as if she were a discarded rag doll! "My Christine...no..."

The other men, who had been loitering idly, doing little else than gawping at their surroundings and throwing fragments of rock into the lake to watch the ripples spread over the gentle water 's surface, suddenly began to move towards him, as if they were vultures crowding and swooping in on a rotting carcass. They cackled and joked amongst their crude masses, assessing him as he lay weeping on the floor with their mean eyes that sunk into the glistening, sweaty mass of flesh that formed their corpulent faces. One, the same who had taken something from the very bastard who had taken his Christine away in the boat, slapped the other men on the back. Erik loathed it- the idle, unintelligent banter, the camaraderie, the way they all smirked and looked so utterly _pleased_ with themselves. Didn't they know what they had done? Didn't they see the havoc they had wreaked with their unfeeling actions? It made him even angrier to see how little they cared, how their work tonight meant absolutely nothing to their thick heads when to him the world had ended.

"Well, looks as if we've been left with the clean up job." The man whom Erik wanted to strangle the life from with his bare hands sneered, earning appreciative yet dumb laughter from the other lackeys. "So, what shall we do with our beloved O.G, boys?"

"I say that we cut off that disgusting face- it's not as if he'll miss it!" another cackled as he cracked his knuckles, failing to achieve the desired threatening look.

"Or," another man suggested in gleeful tones, edging his way to stand right next to where Erik lay sprawled and crying silently on the floor, the toes of his shoes close to touching Erik's exposed face. "We could chop of his hands. Those musical, talented hands that wandered astray to kill many innocent people and, of course, to violate the innocence of our little soprano. Those hands have been many places, gentlemen, and it's time that we end their offensive adventures once and for all, I say!"

Erik felt his face flush red with both the anger and the shame of hearing such crude and appalling comments. He cringed away from the words, scared that they would really sever the only part of his disgusting body that he valued rather than just leave him here to bleed slowly and agonisingly to death, wincing as they sniggered at the mention of the 'little soprano'. Erik shuddered- he would never have dreamt of touching Christine in the way their crude minds eagerly imagined; he had never wanted to possess her like that, never wanted to make her feel as if she were some cheap whore for him to lust over. He would have rather died than ever behave that way.

"Ah, but you cannot violate the dead. Though he might try!" they all began to roar with laughter at the coarse comment, leaving Erik to fall back into his despair on the cold, soaking wet floor. No-one had checked her pulse, or so much as looked at her- they couldn't know whether she lived, surely!

But what if the plan was indeed to kill her anyway? Erik could see no reason for this attack on Christine as well as him- he could not honestly imagine that anyone, save that fat frog Carlotta, might be able to dredge up even one bad thing to say about the innocent, shy and yet wondrously talented young woman- but his mind was in no place to be optimistic, or indeed hopeful that anything might sway in his favour.

He felt tears dribble pathetically down his grimy, exposed face as he considered it- Christine, dead. He simply could not imagine it, it hurt to even think it, his heart protesting angrily for this unwanted torment; he could not think of her lying cold and lifeless, her beautiful eyes closed, her moonbeam skin grey and devoid of colour or warmth. He felt that he would die if he thought it for a second longer and yet that horrible image, conjured up from his own morbid imagination, refused to go away.

"Oh...Christine..." the words cracked as the gasping sobs began, seizing his body as they bent and broke him. The men crowding him heard the odd, gasping noise and looked down at him, immediately jeering and laughing as they prodded and kicked him with their unkind feet, apparently finding unequalled humour in his suffering.

"Look at that- the ugly beast is crying!"

"What a turn, eh? Some scary monster you are, Phantom!"

"I don't even know why he is sobbing like a complete wretch. It's not as if she loved him- if he had any decency, he'd be begging us to end his murderous life once and for all!"

She did love me! Erik wanted to scream the words at them, to stand in front of an entire audience at the Populaire and just let the words explode from his lips, let them ring out and sink into the fat, ignorant heads of every man and woman in Paris who had already decided that his face and past had damned him to a life of darkness and pitiful solitude.

"Pathetic, really." The man who was evidently their leader sniffed, as if disgusted by the man sobbing for his only love and light on the floor. He sounded bored, the game losing its appeal now and the call of drunken delights in some slimy backstreet tavern louder than the previous thuggish delight of ending this loathsome wretch's life. He prodded Erik again with his foot, not scared to sneer down in mocking taunt as Erik was still firmly pinned to the slippery floor by another man's foot taking hold on his windpipe. "A deluded maniac, that's all he is. Well, boys, what do you say? I think we should really do the wretch a kindness and put him out of his sheer misery as soon as we are able."

The man proceeded to bend slightly and wrench Erik's head back, stubbing his foul cigarette on the vulnerable flesh of Erik's neck. As the hot object made contact with the exposed skin, a hellish burn seemed to rip thorough his flesh, and Erik screamed out in pure, unadulterated agony. He hadn't wanted to give them the cruel satisfaction, but the pain overcame him and had him writhing in torture.

"Show me your pretty face." The man cooed at him, the lackeys holding Erik's head so that his face was upturned, forcing him to meet the cold eyes of the smug man who stroked his own chin thoughtfully. "Let's end your miserable life then, shall we O.G?"

He reached into the depths of his coat and drew out a long, thin and hideously sharp blade, waving it before Erik's stricken eyes before leaning forward deliberately slowly, still holding the blade before him as if it were some divine object. Erik was very aware of his exposed neck, as if a target for the knife, so he closed his eyes and found himself hoping that it would not be drawn out for any longer than necessary. I'm sorry Christine, he thought brokenly and awaited the razor sharp kiss of a blade slicing his neck and letting his lifeblood drain away.

But it never came. For then, in that instant, there was a cry and Erik's eyes shot open to see the cruel faced man drop his knife with a clatter, shortly before falling to his knees and collapsing, his clothes suddenly saturated with the sinister red that could only be blood- Erik looked up hopefully to see Nadir Khan stood in the place of the attacker, holding his own blade thoughtfully in front of him, a lethal force to be reckoned with rather than the often irritating and generally well meaning companion Erik only knew him as.

"Evening, gentlemen." Nadir said briskly, wiping the blood from his blade purposefully, much to the horror of the other lackeys who stood watching with eyes bulging from their sockets. "Now, are you going to release that man you have so needlessly pinned to the floor, or will I be forced to try my hand at negotiations again? I should warn you, I normally cut straight to the point-" he brandished the blade, "-quite literally."

But there was no further need for Nadir's blade skills. In the shock of seeing their leader run through and crumple to the floor, the man holding Erik at bay with his foot had dropped his guard, freeing him. Erik sprang up before anyone had time to breathe or indeed utter one terrified gasp at the rage and malice glittering in his eyes as he seized them each by the throat, snapping them with his bare hands, dumping them to the floor with a look of contempt and disgust twisting his already hideous face. He felt out of control, as if it were not blood but fire searing its tortuous path through his veins; his head hurt and his hands clenched tightly, rounding on the lifeless bodies ready to rip them to shreds in a mutilating frenzy just to rid himself of this awful hatred bubbling inside him.

Before he could let his hands loose on those bodies, Nadir wordlessly stepped in and simply pushed each one with his foot into the lake, staring at them as they sunk and left no trace save a few bubbles lingering on the mirror like surface of the lake. Somewhere, water dripped hauntingly in a metronome fashion, contributing to the already uncomfortable atmosphere. Nadir shivered.

"Hm. It would seem that your negotiation skills are no better than mine." Nadir commented drily, looking around him again at the catacombs, before turning to Erik, waiting for the reply that never came. He watched, in mild horror, as Erik sunk to his knees and stared dejectedly at the floor, tears even welling up and spilling down the rough surface of his unmasked face. He didn't care to place the facial covering back over the marred lumps and twists of flesh, and this told Nadir that something serious was wrong. "Erik? Whatever is the matter with you? Why aren't you cursing me for arriving fashionably late, as you normally would?"

"Christine." Was all Erik could manage to mumble, the word saturated with misery.

"Yes, I saw you kiss her on stage. I also saw you nearly die when that suicidal chandelier broke free- that's your own fault, by the way, for unhinging it earlier in anticipation of causing a great disaster. It would seem that, for once, your own devilish antics caught up with you." Nadir replied in a bland voice, his dry humour lost, his eyes softening. "What happened, then? Where is she now?"

"She... Nadir, she told me that she loves me." Erik choked on the bittersweet words, seeing Nadir's worried face smooth out into an elated smile. But that was not all- if only that was all! "I used the trapdoor to save us both, you saw it- but when we arrived down here, some minutes later we...we were attacked. Someone knocked me down- I tried to reach her Khan, I tried! I have never tried so hard to do something in all my life! But she broke free, and in that dash to reach me she- she was pushed down- her head hit the floor with s-such a s-sickening c-crack...and now...and now my Christine, my wonderful Christine- she is dead!"

The sobs that had been battling through his attempts to speak the awful words caught up with him, taking over his whole body until he crouched on the floor weeping as if the world had ended- and to him, it had. Nadir knelt beside him, the sight of his once enemy and now friend pulling on every caring instinct in his body. He frowned as he replayed the words over in his mind, trying to ignore the guttural sobs choking out of Erik beside him- it didn't make any sense to him.

"Hit her head?" he repeated, his voice dripping with doubt. "You're sure she died from hitting her head? Did you see anyone take her pulse, try to revive her-?"

"No." Came the faint reply.

"Well, then." Nadir straightened up and moved to help Erik stand alongside him, his tone firm and his mind set. "I doubt that she is dead- in fact, I would bet that she is very much alive. Was she not the victim in the eyes of the public? Maybe this was an attempt to rescue her from you, an attempt that went disastrously wrong... if the intention had been to kill her, then they would have done so here alongside you and dumped the body. It would risk being caught if they carried her through the streets, don't you think?"

Erik stood up shakily, his mind absorbing the facts. Nadir's logic made perfect sense; he had been head of the Persian police, once upon a time, and so he had little doubt in his thought process and thus his optimistic conclusions. His heart leapt at the very thought that Christine could still be alive, and so when he turned to face Nadir he did so with a new energy.

"Then I must get her back." He said firmly, almost to himself rather than the Persian. "I must find my Christine and rescue her from wherever that brainless thug on the boat took her."

"That much is evident." Nadir muttered. "But how we will do such a thing is another matter entirely."

It took Erik a moment to realise what the Persian had just said, and another moment after that to recover from the shock that Nadir looked deadly serious. After months and months of lectures and scornful comments, criticising his dependence on Christine and telling him over and over that he shouldn't waste another moments thought on such a shallow fool- and now the Persian was offering his assistance on bringing her back into Erik's life?

"We?" he repeated hesitantly, almost expecting Nadir's eyes to become humoured and sarcastic. But they didn't- they remained steadfastly serious, already hazy with thought as Nadir was clearly already listing the ideas in his brilliant investigative mind.

"Well, I'm hardly about to let you go gallivanting off on your own, Erik!" Nadir responded drily, suddenly rubbing his hands together and looking about him at the darkness of the cavern, his eyes giving away the fact that he still found the atmosphere down in the catacombs a little too eerie to be pleasant. "Please tell me that after all we have braved together you think a little better of me than that, you foolish man."

And that was that. In less than an hour, their joint efforts had packed everything of significance to their trip into two small suitcases they found lying behind a chaise lounge, pushing the rest of the furniture and possessions into the back room of the curious little abode, packing it all in alongside a macabre coffin decked in black material and an organ on the far wall, watching their frantic motion with a silent, imperious gaze. They were to bring with them the bare minimum- clothes, money and one item of comfort. The last was only agreed after Erik made several heated pleas to take the small framed portraits of Gustave Daae and Christine, knowing that she would want to have her father's picture once they were reunited and he needing to take the artists impression of his beloved, his only light, in order to survive each day. Nadir relented eventually- he didn't even dare to object to Erik packing his music either, hearing the barked explanation that he would play to earn them money and simply shaking his head, his mouth pursed. If a picture and yellowed pages of notation were truly enough to prevent his friend from falling back into that black pit of despair, he would not question it.

At last, with his home prepared for maybe years of abandon, Erik lead Nadir out to the lake and locked the hidden entrance firmly shut before taking him down yet another shadowy passageway, which he knew lead to the concealed entrance at the Rue Scribe. A few rats scurried past their feet, making Nadir shiver a little, but Erik didn't even notice. He was too busy collecting his thoughts into a mantra- you will find Christine Daae and you will save her from those brutes, or you did not single-handedly dominate the world renowned Opera Populaire! For once, you will not be a pessimist! You will be successful and you will savour the love you have at last received!

"Shall we?" Nadir gestured to the surface of the Parisian streets, bathed in moonlight and shining with the damp, turning each cobblestone into a pearlescent precious stone rather than muck smeared cobbles.

Erik simply nodded, locking the gate behind them with an ominous metal clang. The gate was shut- giving up and skulking back beneath the Opera was no longer an option. Erik made himself a promise as Nadir smiled and they started their journey across the Parisian streets, the moon his only witness to this silent vow; when he next returned to the Opera Populaire and re-opened those passages, he would do so with Christine, his Christine, holding his arm and smiling. If not, he knew he would die.

And so, the search began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer; ****I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.**

**Author Note: ****Hi everyone! Here's the first proper chapter to the story; it takes place a year after the prologue. This chapter will introduce you to the new addition to Erik's "crew"; his name is a real Romany gypsy name meaning 'small'. I consider him to be the less sensible/do-the-right-thing version of Nadir; Nadir is the righteous little angel on Erik's shoulder and this new character the well meaning but sometimes morally questionable devil. :-) **

**Thank you to the lovely people who reviewed; Filhound, Eriks Guest and TMara. Glad you guys like it :-D**

**And now, without any further rambling, onto the chapter!**

**One- Old Faces  
(A year later...)**

The rain was pounding mercilessly against the defenceless ground, as if every drop were a watery bullet from the angry clouds. Even one second stood in the ferocious downpour was enough to leave the two bedraggled riders and their weary mounts soaked to the skin, the cold of the rain chilling them to the bone and slowly freezing their skin until it turned mottled purple in protest, despite their attempts to layer-up against nature's wrath. The horses weaved their heads uncertainly as an ominous, low grumble of thunder echoed around the grey clouds, snorts of visible breath coming agitatedly from their nostrils.

The two riders didn't want to have to stop for the night- the thought of a warm inn, with food and beds, was enough to make them salivate with desire but if they stopped, they would waste valuable time and money; both things they could not truly spare. But as another angry clap of thunder resounded around them, making the horses fidget and paw at the sludge beneath their hooves, they gave in to the relentless force of the weather and began to search for the nearest inn.

The well-travelled pair had braved far worse than a thunderstorm on the wild goose chase that had occupied them entirely for the last year. It was doomed to continue for longer, no doubt dragging them through far worse than what they had already experienced; sleeping rough in the deathly cold, fleeing from bands of thieves and cut-throats, barely surviving on the bare minimum of food and suffering embarrassing illnesses due to the poor quality of the stuff they forced down their protesting gullets. It felt like a failure of the worst kind, giving in to a bout of thunderous rain, but secretly they were both pleased that tonight they might even have a good night's sleep.

After a few more soggy miles of riding through the unfamiliar territory, they came to a small village sat on the fringes of thick deciduous woodland, almost concealed by the grasping branches of greenery. The settlement, with its quaint collection of cottages and perilously sunken cobbles, seemed abandoned as they rode through it, savouring the sound of horses' hooves on real stone cobbles, a distant memory from days in Paris, with comfort and luxuries. But the quiet look of the place was a deceitful as the mask that hid the deformed flesh of one of the two riders.

Erik and Nadir eventually came across what appeared to be the only inn in the village, barely managing to stagger down from the saddle and hand each bedraggled horse to an obliging stable boy. They looked up at the seething mass of thick cloud above them, still spitting rain bullets at the earth, and so with one last look towards the empty road, they turned and made their weary path into the inn. The scene inside was the opposite to the deserted feel of the village; it was bright and vibrant, the sound hitting them like a wall of noise, and the warmth that greeted them seemed to ease and dull their aches and pains. It seemed rowdier than they had both expected- every table was crammed with people, and they tried not to gawp as they took in hairy men and scantily clothed women, all gambling and drinking and laughing away about everything and nothing.

Erik finally managed to come to terms with this slap in the face from civilisation, dragging the staring Nadir through the heat and the noise to the bar, where a disgruntled looking man stood watching his full house with an oddly grim expression.

"Bloody gypsies." He muttered darkly under his breath as one group of the brightly clothed people began to throw scarily large knives at the wall, as if in a contest of some description. "Coming into this village, causing a scene, making a racket, scaring the villagers to death with their evil eyes. I tried to ask them to quieten down, you know, perfectly polite and civil. And what did I get? A great big knife waved before my eyes, that's what! Bunch of murderous tramps, they are. Though this lot seem worse than most. Gah."

Nadir coughed lightly, and the man stopped ranting under his breath and reached for an old cloth, which he began to wipe the miserably sticky bar top with, his eyes still drifting over to the gypsies sprawled over the bar ever few moments.

"So, gentlemen, how can I help you today?" he asked, his voice instantly less venomous as he took in their relatively normal appearance. "If you're wanting rooms, we have plenty. That disgusting bunch only wants to come in here to gorge the wine and scare the regulars. Traveller scum."

The venom of the barman was so astonishing that Nadir had to smother his snort of disbelief with a deep cough, making Erik roll his eyes and slap the Persian hard on the back, warning him to stop being such an immature fool. The barman raised an eyebrow, inviting their response with an air of superiority that was just a little more than irritating.

"Two rooms, if you would. Just for tonight." Erik spoke in a perfectly amiable tone, keeping his voice low and warm. However, his efforts to be polite and civil soon seemed worthless as he noted the barman's preoccupied gaze- his eyes were lingering on Erik's face, searching the odd looking flesh with curious bewilderment. Erik could see the puzzle in the man's gaze- he could tell that his ignorant brain was trying to fathom just why his customer was wearing a badly made and highly uncomfortable flesh coloured facial covering, and at that moment Erik was thankful that he had relented and agreed to wear this abominable thing as opposed to his old, bright white mask that would have immediately ruined his discretion and alerted the man to his past as the notorious Phantom of the Opera.

But didn't he know it was rude to stare? The polite tone was gone from Erik's capability, and the battle to control his rage must have become apparent in his yellow eyes, as the man paled and began to twist the cloth nervously in his sweaty grip.

"Of course. Two rooms. One night." The man replied a little too late to sound natural, his eyeballs bursting from their sockets and his words mumbled. "That will be...er..."

"Is my face really that interesting to you, Monsieur?" Erik asked icily, ignoring the sharp intake of breath that came from the Persian beside him, far too busy delighting in how the rude barman turned red and started to squirm under his murderous gaze. Surely the Persian wasn't going to berate him for this, not when the greasy little man had been so blatantly unpleasant? "You know, if you think that this is good to gawp at, you should really take a look at what is concealed _underneath_."

"I am terribly sorry Monsieur, my friend is very tired from our journey and so is a little more irritable than usual." Nadir immediately interjected in apologetic tones, throwing money at the mortified barman whilst also delivering a well placed jab to Erik's ribs with the sharp point of his elbow. Erik was quietly fuming, even muttering obscenities under his breath, but Nadir could only be thankful that his friend had not gripped the barman by the shoulders and thrown him across the room, given the mood he was in. "Also, might I have the opportunity to offer our services to you? My friend here is an excellent musician, and I am sure your customers would greatly appreciate his playing the piano this evening, for a small fee-"

The man slammed his hands down on the bar, returning to his mopping at a ferocious manner, insulted by these threatening idiots and their audacity to ask to be hired after be so terribly rude! Nadir knew, from the angry face of the barman, that once again his persuasive techniques had failed him. Erik had always been the charismatic one of them.

"We don't have music here." He almost snarled, twisting the words with such disgust that anyone would think that Nadir had asked to set up a brothel in one of the bedrooms. "If you want those types, go and explore the travelling freak show those scum's manage. Offer them your services."

Then he turned smartly on his heel and ignored them.

Erik was trembling with rage, taken off guard by how incredibly rude and unpleasant the sneering little man was- their isolation from normality for the last year had made him forget how rude some of the human race could be, and it reminded him once again of why he had chosen to live (Erik chose to think selectively then) a good five cellars below humanity. Knowing that his patience was frayed and close to breaking point, he made himself turn and stalk away across the room, stopping himself from seizing the barman and slamming his smug face against the unswept floor. He sought out the only free table amongst the drunken chatter, and sat down with a scowl set to rival a gargoyle.

Nadir wearily joined him, sitting heavily down and very nearly dozing on the table there and then. Without the distraction of conversation, Erik's restless mind was allowed to work itself into another frenzy, making him feel even less comfortable. So that was that, then. Another city searched, another part of France travelled, some more money and lifespan wasted and still she was no-where to be found.

The last year had seen the lowest points of Erik's existence- the misery he had been subjected to had rivalled his guilt in the years of Persia, his pain in the years of the gypsy clan and his anguish writhing beneath the Opera Populaire. This hellish stretch of torture was not a result of illnesses or exhaustion that he encountered as they rode on this mad quest for knowledge around France- no, this time, the guilty party was hope. It was hope, and its cruel fantasies, that were shattering him very successfully as he sat there in the dimly lit inn, his head buried in his hands.

It was the same every night; without fail, as he sat there in silence contemplating his existence, he would be bombarded with the memory of that night- that night that should have been one of the best of his life, a time to savour and fondly recollect with a smiling Christine by his side. It was horridly ironic that as soon as she chose him over the snivelling Vicomte, some other unknown force had seen fit to take her away. It was as if fate had decided against Erik's happiness, pulling out all the stops in the sadistic effort to ensure that Erik would never receive any of Christine Daae's love. Nadir had sworn to him that night that Christine would be alive and well, and since then he had never shown any signs of taking that promise back. But for Erik, it was becoming harder and harder to keep reminding himself and believing that she could possibly be alright. For each city they searched to no avail, each night he spent with his aching head buried in his hands like this, was slowly destroying him and the little optimism he possessed.

It was a morbid, idle wonder of his to question how many crushing nights like this it would take before he gave up and resigned himself to the fact that she was dead.

Nadir yawned and stretched, the sound a welcome release from this self inflicted misery. Erik looked up and took in Nadir, seeing his grouchy expression that clearly came from being pulled out of his brief snatch of sleep. The culprits were the gypsies, loud in their drunken celebrations, so Erik turned his gaze over to where they all clustered around tables, brightly coloured and unearthly. He watched as they continued with their games; swigging far too much ale in disgusting displays of manliness, throwing knives at the wall, stabbing daggers into the wooden tables but generally just smiling, laughing and enjoying themselves. It was a side to them and their vibrant culture that he had seldom been able to see and never able to experience, constantly under the evil eyed watch of Javert, and spending the majority of his time locked in that stinking cage.

His eyes, curious now, swept over them and took in their fascinatingly bright clothes and found an odd, misplaced sense of delight as he saw how wild and free they were. For as much as he had loathed Javert and his sadistic approach to everything, Erik had never and would never be able to loathe the Romany people collectively. Not when they lived with such energy and joy- there were no signs of worry or regret etched onto their faces, and Erik felt oddly respectful of that. If he had not been a deformed monster as a child, and instead a normal looking being but with all his odd abilities of ventriloquism and illusion, Erik knew without doubt that his life in the clan would have been pleasant, even fun. Especially because of the music- the mad screeching of the fiddle, the rowdy singing, the constant pounding of the hand drums...nothing could compare to music from the heart, accompanied by the crackle of a bonfire and the echoing sounds of empty night-time.

As he continued to watch them his eyes met those of a man who stared straight back at him with a puzzled expression. Erik felt that his face must have mirrored that confusion, for he felt a strange sense of déjà vu, staring at those dark brown eyes and that weathered skin. But whilst he remained unsure, the man suddenly smiled and got up, starting the short walk from his clustered table to Erik, who continued to stare at him and wondering where the odd swing in his stomach could have come from.

"Erik? Why are you antagonising a gypsy?!" Nadir demanded urgently, turning to look at where Erik's gaze was fixated and immediately breaking into a sweat. "Stop it right this instance! You may not care if he comes over here and threatens us, but I most certainly do!"

However, there was no time to reply, for the man was not a metre away, and Erik stood up, looking dazed as the man laughed and extended a hand for him to shake.

"Well I never." Said the gypsy in that accent which Erik had so often feared and desired. His eyes were sparkling and his smile was broad, seemingly amused by Erik's expression. Nadir stared at him warily, but the gypsy was only looking at Erik. "I would never have realised that it was you, had I not at last seen the edge of your mask. Very good, Erik. Very clever. But then you are a genius, aren't you?"

To Nadir's astonishment, Erik suddenly began to laugh; seizing the gypsy's outstretched hand and pumping it up and down with much enthusiasm, laughing along with him. Who even was this man? Erik apparently knew him and was pleased to see him- Nadir mentally berated himself when an odd jealous pang hit him in the heart. How childish, he told himself harshly, that you might be aggravated by the fact that Erik is friends with more than just you!

"Pali!" Erik exclaimed, the name meaning nothing to Nadir. "I can't believe it- what a coincidence!"

"No coincidence, Erik. For a meeting as wondrous as this, it must be fate at work!" Pali laughed, letting go of Erik's hand only to slap him on the shoulder in a brotherly manner. Nadir watched, feeling sour. "And look at you! So changed from when we last met! No-one would ever guess that such a well dressed, well spoken and well travelled- so it would seem- gentleman could have once been the greatest attraction of our clan!"

The realisation of who this man must be hit Nadir like a tonne of bricks. With an outraged gasp, he stood up and knocked his chair back, his face going the colour of the neck tie Pali was wearing. Erik turned to look at him, rolling his eyes at the sight and telling Nadir with his facial expression to stop fretting and to sit back down. But this only made him angrier.

"Erik, I demand that you tell me WHAT ON EARTH is going on!" he hissed his demand, his fists crashing down upon the table in a manner that was not dissimilar to the barman's behaviour from earlier. Perhaps Erik just brought out this side in everyone? "Why are you shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with _him_, one of the beasts who incarcerated and exploited you when you were an innocent child?!"

At this, both Pali and Erik began to roar with infuriating laughter, making Nadir tremble with suppressed fury.

"Answer me, damn it!" he roared, in a tone Erik had never heard the stoic Daroga use before. It reminded him that Nadir was, once again, merely looking out for him and trying to ensure that he was not suffering. In his happiness to see an old face again, he had forgotten his loyal friend, and he instantly stopped the cruel laughter and laid a restraining hand on Nadir's shoulder, which the Persian batted off irritably. Smothering the urge to retort with an insult, he simply sat down at the table and gestured for Pali to pull up a chair and join them.

Either Pali was ignorant of the evil glares Nadir was shooting at him, or he was just a very understanding person.

"Do calm down, Daroga. Pali is no more an evil beast than I am a handsome gentleman. He was my age when I was being carted around as the 'Devils Child' by Javert- innocent." Erik explained calmly, and Pali's face immediately went blank and emotionless at the mention of the gypsy Erik had so often talked about- Nadir knew that Javert and the torture he had inflicted on Erik were some of the only events in Erik's life that had truly scared him and still left him vulnerable to nightmares. At the mention of the man's name, his eyes still displayed childish fear, and Pali seemed aware of that, losing his grin and looking troubled indeed. "Pali was the son of one of the gypsies- he used to talk to me, bring me food secretly and the like. Of course, neither of us understood the truth behind the situation; I was simply the boy in the cage, and he was the boy out of the cage."

Nadir listened to the truth behind it, and at once felt his face flood with a blush of shame. He murmured an apology to Pali, but the gypsy shook his head vehemently and continued to look disgusted and troubled.

"No, do not be sorry." He sounded bitter, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at his clasped hands in his lap. "What they did to Erik was monstrous and evil and I will forever regret the fact that he had to suffer at the hands of the people I called family. The clan is better these days though; we are more of a travelling fair, with no true slaves or people to exploit. Some of the leaders are still barbaric and would gladly return to the old ways, but people have moved on too- there is more success in talent than enslaving victims. I cannot help but be thankful for this, Erik, even though there are still many who would rather not be in the clan at all."

All three men fell silent for a moment, staring at their hands or at the grimy table in an awkward moment of being lost for words, but eventually Nadir got up and mumbled that he was going to buy some drinks for them all, shortly leaving to purchase the desired alcohol from the sulking barman. Pali raised his eyes from his hands to watch the Persian go, letting a soft laugh fall from his lips at the Persian's expression- it was not an unkind laugh, but more of an attempt to lighten the gloomy atmosphere. From across the room, Erik could still hear the other gypsies laughing and singing rowdily amongst themselves.

"It must be odd to him." Pali explained his laughter, even though he didn't need to.

"Yes." Erik agreed softly, the surprise and delight of this meeting now fading back into his depression regarding Christine. In an attempt not to fall back into his despair for a while longer, he forced his shoulders back and stormed into an attempt at conversation. "But then, it is odd for us all. Enough of that depressing topic- tell me, where has the clan been in recent years, with your new status as a travelling fair?"

Pali cracked a smile, used to Erik's odd humour and all too happy to talk about something a little less morbid. He paused for a moment, thinking about it, before answering in a happier tone.

"Well, we went to Eastern Europe for a little while- that was interesting, especially as a woman declared that she had fallen in love with me...anyway, we dabbled in Russia even, for a short time, until one of us caused some trouble and we had to flee quickly back to Italy. All a misunderstanding, of course." Pali grinned at the memory. "But now we've decided to go on progress around France, to try our hand at a more cultured approach. Someone somewhere in the clan decided that we would earn more money if we appealed to the civilised, so I suppose that if we could ascertain the mood of the French _en ce moment_ we might be in for a big reward."

"That sounds industrious." Erik laughed, wondering if Pali and his other gypsy friends had thought that the richest of France would seldom venture out of their ostentatious homes, let alone go for a wander through a gypsy camp.

"Indeed." Pali smiled, raising an eyebrow as a scuffle broke out between some of the people he had been sat at the table with earlier. "But what of you? What brings you to this delightful inn tonight- do you live in the village?"

"No, no. I live in Paris." Erik replied, smiling to himself as he considered how his old friend would react if he elaborated on the nature of his abode in the capital. "Nadir and I are...well, I don't know how to put it. We are on a wild goose chase, I suppose, around France."

Pali looked intrigued as Nadir came back to the table, carrying a jug and three huge mugs of dark red wine that resembled blood and smelt truly rancid. Erik poured himself some and took a large swig of the vinegary tasting muck before he remembered that he disliked alcohol and it's bitter burn that made him want to gag and spit the disgusting stuff out and onto the already grubby floor. With a scowl, he pushed his mug back to the centre of the table, astonished that Nadir and Pali seemed to be enjoying their drinks.

"So you were saying- you're on a wild goose chase?" Pali asked, prompting Erik to continue, but Nadir began to speak instead, desperate to make up for his earlier rudeness towards Pali, who seemed to be a very decent man indeed. The gypsy smiled politely at the Persian, and Erik settled back to watch the conversation, amused.

"For the last year we have been riding around the country on horseback, and as you can see by the state of us and the poor quality of this disgusting wine, Erik and I are at the point of poverty and exhaustion- but we will succeed, I have no doubt about it." Nadir said, still not giving away any more information as to why they were galloping around the country like such fools. Erik knew that Pali wanted to know the interesting details, not to hear Nadir give an optimistic outlook on the whole affair.

"Around France, you say?" Pali mused aloud, playing with the rim of his wine mug, staring into the deep red liquid as if it were a crystal ball. "Well there's no need for you to travel and suffer like that- you could tour with us, the clan. I assume that you are still musical Erik; you could add to our cultured appeal by playing every night, and you would get to keep your earnings and sleep in a tent or caravan."

The words sunk into Erik's mind, suddenly seeming honey sweet and making him sit up straight, a huge grin breaking out across his face, which was marked with the lines of exhaustion and worry. Of course- why hadn't he considered it? They would tour with the gypsy clan for a little while, still covering France, but earning money too- also, the gypsy fair was likely to entice out the same thug who had stolen Christine away, as Erik presumed he would be of the filthy nature that enjoyed gawping at such barbaric spectacles. He was so caught up in the sudden excitement of such an idea, that he did not take note of how Nadir's face had become stern and forbidding.

"Pali that is a brilliant notion!" he said enthusiastically, and Nadir's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "Nadir, don't you agree? We can earn money and still continue with an effective search for Christine!"

At the mention of a woman's name, Pali suddenly seemed more interested, his eyes sparkling again as he studied Erik's ecstatic expression, sensing a tale. How odd that Erik, a boy he had known from a troubled childhood and now was the epitome of mystery in those civilised clothes and disguised by a flesh coloured half mask, would be willing to chase a girl all over France at the expense of himself and an old friend.

"Who is this Christine girl, Erik?" Pali asked eagerly, but his interest was overshadowed by Nadir's sudden anger as an argument ensued.

"And why on EARTH would you want to travel with a gypsy clan, Erik?" Nadir clearly did not share his friend's optimism, his tone furious as he questioned Erik's sanity. "I appreciate that you have just met an old friend again, and that you feel very pessimistic regarding our search success, but-"

"It's not just about that, though, Khan! Think; the clan will lead us all over France, efficiently!" Erik argued hotly, his sense blinded by his desire to find Christine, all practicality lost to his desperation to find her. "And don't you think that a gypsy camp will attract the very low life's we are trying to locate? Not meaning to degrade your clan, Pali..."

"Erik-!"

"And don't you think that we need money, Khan? We'll never get anything from stuck up innkeepers- this may be our only chance to earn whilst we search for her and thus not die from eating or drinking such pigs swill." He gestured towards to wine with a grimace. Normally, Erik would have been horrified by the idea of travelling with the clan he had been enslaved in- now, he was clouded by the thought that it might enable them to find her at long last, and end this suffering for good. "Damn you, Daroga!"

Pali glanced at both men nervously, seeing their murderous glares and briefly wondering how they had not killed one another by now. He felt as though he should sit between them, as the wobbly wooden table was not going to stop them if the argument resorted to fists, but he was terrified of getting caught up between two such angry looking men that he sat back meekly and swallowed his protests.

"You know, you wouldn't have to necessarily tour with us- you could follow behind us, stay at your own accommodation, but in the evenings perform for your income." Pali intervened hesitantly, still glancing at both of them, fearful of their reactions. "We only set up our acts and open the clan to the paying public at night, anyway. Would such a compromise suffice?"

Nadir looked from Pali to Erik and then back at his wine, sighing in irritable defeat, far too tired from the days riding and too uncomfortable with the thick smoke stinging his sore eyes to argue properly. He took another large gulp of vinegary wine, wincing at the acidic sting it brought to his throat, before taking another gulp simply for something to do. He was being pushed into a corner, faced with arguments that he could hardly object to, and yet his gut instinct was still to protest.

"It is hardly a compromise, but it will have to do if you are so set upon it." He snapped, Erik nodding in agreement, only he was smiling with nervous pleasure at the outcome. "What you will do for that flighty woman astounds me, Erik. Touring with the very gypsies who inflicted hell and more upon you, only a child...pah!"

Pali let out a sigh of relief that he had not been required to leap between them as they fought to the death, assuring them with a happy smile that any arrangement was bound to be fine. He soon left them to return to the camp with his friends, telling them that he would come back to speak with them tomorrow morning after they had all had the sweet relief of a night's sleep. Erik was filled with an odd sense of jubilation as he and Nadir ascended the stairs from the now deserted bar to the rooms upstairs, ignoring Nadir's stony glare and instead trying to focus on what it would feel like when at last they found Christine and took her home to Paris, together and safe at last.

"I hope you know what you are doing, Erik." Nadir murmured, before going into his own room and shutting the door, leaving Erik alone in the empty corridor before he entered his own bedroom, laying down on the bed and laughing aloud in euphoric bliss to feel a mattress and pillow beneath his aching limbs.

He did not dare, however, to contemplate how it would feel if by the end of the clans excursion around France they had still not found Christine. In this snatch of optimistic bliss, with a pillow beneath his thumping head and four walls around him to grant him a night of silence and warmth, it was a matter that did not bear thinking about.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer;**** I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.**

**Author Note;**** Hi everyone! So here is the next update of the story; so far not much has been revealed, but for this story I'm going to attempt some mystery, with the details of the how/why not suddenly being exposed, but gradually revealed. Perhaps you'll figure out those details before Erik and Nadir...? :-)**

**Again, thank you so much to the lovely reviewers; Filhound and TMara. Reviews are always appreciated, as I like to know what you think :-).**

**And now...over to Erik!**

**Two- Angel of the Clan**

Despite the optimism that had lulled Erik into sleep, the night spent in a proper bed was wasted on him. He tossed and turned as if the mattress and pillow were filled with sharp stones, kicking the blankets to the un-swept floor and thrashing wildly as the usual nightmares took hold of his vulnerable mind- again, he saw her as she struggled against the attackers grip, again, he saw her break free and desperately charge at him with terrified eyes imploring him to save her and again, he recalled the sickening crack of human skull colliding with slippery stone. In the end, when the images began to reappear as soon as he closed his heavy lids, he became angry and refused to lay back down on the taunting bed, hating the silence and the warmth, wishing for the distractions of sleeping in the cold and the rain as he sunk down onto the end of the bed and placed his heavy head in his hands. It was unbearable, this constant bombardment of guilt and shame; why had he not been stronger? Why had he not known that something bad would happen as soon as the first shreds of hope and happiness were granted? How he had he not foreseen it? The ugly beast, the evil murderer, was not supposed to win; of course something terrible would have occurred. But this time was worse than the usual suffering; the bitter consequences fate had dealt him had entangled Christine too, and for that Erik would never forgive himself.

The night dragged on, and Erik did not sleep. His drooping lids watched as the dark splendour of the night sky slowly became washed with streaks of watery blue and orange, the prologue to a brilliant sunrise that with it brought the heavenly excuse to leave this torture chamber and progress with the day- his heart skipped a little as he realised that this meant their journey with the clan, something he was both ecstatic and nervous for, would at last begin.

He and Nadir kept, on the Persian's icy insistence, far behind the caravan procession that made it's lethargic journey through the French countryside, rumbling along dirt tracks and mowing down dense woodland without a care, as if the world would stand aside for the gypsies as they made their journey. It was a struggle to keep to Nadir's prissy demands, their horses well suited to the rough terrain and covering the distance with little more than a gentle tug of the reigns here or there. As they passed through small villages and towns, Erik watched as women and children came to stand silently at their gates, or how the groups of men in their tatty workers clothes would move aside with barely a murmur. Their eyes, cautious and sharp as they took in every detail of the procession from the drunken gypsies hanging from the sides to the colourful objects they had "borrowed" en route, all held the same bitter thoughts; gypsies were scum, filthy thieves with no morals and a sinful taste for the demon drink and gambling. And yet, Erik thought sadly as he turned away from their curious stares and spurred his agitated horse onwards, if these very people didn't flock to the camps of an evening, to gawp and pay money for their cruel spectacles, perhaps these travelling folk would be forced to return to their honourable nomadic roots.

The journey was hellishly slow, and with Nadir still maintaining his stony silence in protest of joining up with the clan for the tour, Erik was far more perceptive to what lay around him than normal. The quaint little villages made of their rustic grey stone and the rolling greenery with thick woodland were all strange to him, little more than faint memories from a distant past, and as they began to ride through the thick leafy foliage Erik felt what must have been the sharp pangs of homesickness spear his heart. He would never have admitted it to the stubborn Nadir, who would just adore the chance to gloat and demand they leave this band of gypsies, but it was true that he desperately craved the palatial decor of the Opera Populaire, or the feeling of hurrying through the winding streets. So many poets and artists had found the beauty in the open countryside over the centuries, but what about the concealed beauty that lay under the muck and grime of the bustling, living city of Paris?

He missed the comforts of Paris; his home- no matter how dank or gothic it might be, Erik still missed it- and also the simple delight of playing a piano. He had not been graced with such an instrument in so long, instead having to resort to the violin each day. He adored the violin, with its sleek wooden body and how it would weep the melody as the bow kissed the strings, but there was something so obliging about a piano. He must have been gazing wistfully into the distance as he considered all the things he craved but could not have, for he caught sight of Nadir in the corner of his eye, and the Persian had a smug smile plastered over his face that Erik knew from those rare few times that he had been forced to admit that Nadir was correct. He quickly made his face impassive, angrily yanking on the reigns and cursing under his breath, hoping that the low hanging branches might just give Nadir a leafy smack in the pompous face.

Eventually, just when both Erik and Nadir were starting to worry that the journey from hell might never end, the great procession of caravans and wagons came to a seemingly sudden halt beside a section of woodland, nestled just on the border with Italy. They had rumbled through a small town not a mile from the destination they now set up camp in, a purposeful act that had sparked the interest of the locals. When the afternoon began to fade into dusk and as the musicians tuned their instruments, the tents now hauled up and ready to permit the access of paying spectators, a couple of gypsies lit a huge bonfire that crackled and spat and released gorgeous warmth and the alluring scent of wood smoke. Not twenty minutes later, Erik and Nadir stood back to allow the streams of curious locals to enter the camp, eyes wide and money ready to be handed over the nearest leering gypsy.

"I am warning you now." Nadir murmured in a grouchy tone, grating on Erik's already heightened nerves. "One sign of trouble, or another old 'friend' who decides to try and exploit you as they did when you were a child, and we leave this stinking mess of a camp and set out on our own again. We cannot afford to waste time trying to rescue you from being enslaved again, Erik; I will certainly not be searching for Christine Daae until the day I die, so you had better be sure that this ludicrous set up will benefit us in our search!"

Erik rolled his eyes at the paranoid Persian as he fidgeted and shuffled from foot to foot, giving his anxious friend a little shove as he bent to open his violin case and lift the precious instrument from its nest of silk. He tuned it efficiently, his ears so attuned that he could hear the notes even in the noise of the camp, before preparing his bow and standing up again. Nadir watched with sceptical eyes, huffing irritably as Erik nudged him again, this time with a purposefully teasing grin to try and coax the grumpy man to stop fretting. The vibrant atmosphere of the camp was similar to the days of Persia, but in a surprisingly pleasant manner.

"Khan, kindly patronise someone else and allow me to earn us some much required money." He replied smoothly, not allowing himself to be wound up by Nadir's incessant worrying- he was right in that they could not afford to waste any precious time, so Erik wanted to start earning and stop standing around bickering like a pair of seven year old girls! "I don't need to remind you that I am the unwilling expert of us both in these circumstances- I know how the clan works, how they earn their money. And I _will_ find Christine Daae; I refuse to give up now."

With that final victory, leaving Nadir gaping at his friend's sudden burst of optimism, Erik let the bow fly across the awaiting strings, unleashing a stream of lively notes that wound through the air and danced on the slight breeze, turning the heads of the excited locals who had just entered the boundaries of the camp. Nadir huffily put the open violin case at Erik's feet and stood back to watch the performance, enjoying the cheerful music, which differed from Erik's usual melancholy moaning. His ability to play the violin excellently- it seemed heavenly compared to the out of tune screeching that was echoing from another violin somewhere amongst the tents and caravans- attracted the attention of every person who came streaming into the camp, as did the fact that he became entirely absorbed in the music, his eyes closed as he leaned into the instrument, whilst the other fool who was wielding a tatty fiddle was dancing around with it. The notes of the songs he teased out of the violin soared up and over the mess of the camp, seeking freedom above their heads in the sunset bathed sky, and Nadir watched in first amazement and then utter astonishment as people willingly tossed money into the open case.

It was strange- Erik's complete lack of money grabbing seemed to make the spectators _want_ to hand over their money. Nadir hated to admit to being wrong, especially after he had been so certain and smug regarding this whole affair, but Erik really did know exactly how to play the gypsies game. He was a success, a roaring success, and Nadir could do nothing other than watch in silent amazement.

"You should sing, Khan." Erik grinned between songs, and Nadir saw a spark in his yellow eyes, gleaming with the love for performance that Erik had clearly been born with. It was a trait that only heightened his musical ability, as he never wanted to stop playing it and delighting his few friends with the melodies he could forge. "If you were to sing to my violin, I'm sure our profits would double."

"Shut up, Erik, and play your damned violin." Nadir growled, turning crimson and making Erik roar with laughter. Nadir was stunned to see that kind of happiness on Erik's face, and Erik realised as he turned back to the awaiting spectators and struck up the next tune that he had not felt this happy and free since...well, since Christine had told him that she loved him.

The night rolled on, the continuous surge of people coming and going from the camp gradually filling the violin case with money and swelling their profits- Erik did not have to ask for money once, and the visitors were happy to throw their coins and savour the music that seemed far more worthy of an opera house orchestra than a gypsy camp. The calls of the other acts rang out into the crisp night air, accompanied by the bright, vibrant music coming from Erik and other musicians as well as the rowdy dancing and the crackle of the huge bonfire. The flow of money never slowed- if anything, the rate increased, so when Erik at last stopped to give his aching fingers a rest from the harsh texture of the strings- even his experienced, calloused tips could not withstand the constant friction for hours on end without rest- he and Nadir found smiles for each other as they counted a fine sum of money nestled in the case. And the night was not over yet.

"So," Erik commented a little smugly to Nadir as they retreated a little from the hectic mass of people and found some cool grass to sit on, staring up at the glittering night sky. It looked as if a giant had crushed a diamond in his careless fist, scattering the glittering shards all over the jet black. "Do you finally accept that maybe, just maybe, this idea of mine could benefit us after all Khan? Because you may behave like a stubborn ass all you like, but I know that you are just as pleased about the profits I have made tonight as I am."

"Whatever you like to think, Erik." Nadir huffed, trying to ignore the drone of his friend's smug voice by staring up at the star patterns above them, hoping to find a constellation to focus on rather than Erik's wittering.

"Now, now Daroga. Haven't you a few more patronising words for me? Some further cautious advice?"

"Do shut up Erik. Go back to your violin."

Erik looked at the stars for a moment longer before shaking his head, pocketing the heavy mass of coins and lovingly placing the violin back in its case, conscious of Nadir's bewildered eyes on him. Once the money and violin were secure, he took one moment to turn to face the darkness of the woodland and remove his mask from his face. The cool night air kissed the warped skin and felt like ice on a burn; a euphoric sign escaped his lips, swollen and bloated on the deformed side, and Nadir watched with anxious eyes as Erik gently massaged the twisted skin- it looked rubbed raw and he could imagine that it must be inflamed and horrifically painful. He was about to suggest they find some water from the small river he had caught sight of earlier, to bathe the inflamed skin and hopefully ease the discomfort, but Erik placed the mask back onto his face without even a murmur and stood up purposefully, staring down at Nadir where he still sat.

"No, Khan, I shall not be returning to my violin tonight." He said simply, turning to look at the mass of people again, wondering if he might lose himself in that vibrant crowd and forget his worries for one night. "I think I might take a look around the camp, see the so-called performances and what our competition is. Would you care to join me?"

"Erik you know that you will only upset yourself if you see some poor lonely child incarcerated in a cage just as...just as you suffered?" Nadir asked in a wary voice, hating how casual Erik's tone was- he sounded as if he were asking Nadir out for a carriage drive, or to take tea at some delightful little cafe overlooking the Seine, not to explore the depths of a hideous slavery circus! He stood up and brushed the few stray bits of grass from his coat.

"Yes." Erik replied, too lost in watching how the visitors seemed to be swallowed up by the mass of vibrant people to check himself. His brutal honesty hit Nadir like a tonne of bricks. "But Nadir, I believe Pali- I don't think that the clan locks up little boys and girls in cages anymore. However, if I do happen to stumble across such things, I intend to liberate the incarcerated individuals and then leave. Despite what you may think of me, I refuse to be associated with slavery."

Nadir rolled his eyes in the gloom and allowed an exasperated sigh to escape his pursed mouth. Was Erik really so foolish to believe that this clan of the same gypsies who had imprisoned and exploited him as an innocent child could have really changed all that much? It was true that Pali, or whatever his name was, seemed a decent enough man, but even he had said that some of the acts currently touring with the clan did not wish to be there; just because they were not in a cage or tortured did not mean that it was not barbaric slavery.

Of course there was that other worry, the worry that had left Nadir sleepless and agitated all last night. What if someone recognised Erik and decided to seize him? He had, after all, killed his gypsy tormentor and run away from the clan, no doubt losing them a lot of money as they had lost their best attraction, the famed Devils Child. Nadir shuddered to consider what they might to do his friend if they caught him- he doubted that, even amongst these barbaric types, murder would be tolerated. Especially by a person they considered as their property, their 'slave'.

"So? Are you joining me, oaf, or are you going to stand there pulling that unattractive expression all night?" Erik demanded, his harsh voice cutting through Nadir's mental fretting. He pulled a face- in the nicest possible way, Erik was hardly the one to comment on what was unattractive and what wasn't.

"I don't suppose I have much of a choice; I will follow you, oh leader." Nadir replied scathingly, his sarcasm earning him a scornful look from Erik, who strode ahead with a flash of his yellow eyes, his pace suggesting that he was in a demented hurry or even knew where he was going in this maze of caravans, tents, money grabbing gypsies and amazed visitors.

Dressed all in black, tall, elegant, pale faced and sinister...he cut straight through the lively colours and vibrant atmosphere like a knife, his silence and dark expression only adding to his efficient parting of the crowds. Nadir had at last come to terms with the fact that the loud, bright feel of the Romany camp was what he had been craving for so long as he fondly recalled the fiery heat and cultured spectacles of his home in the Orient- but Erik, the one who seemed adamant on their staying with this clan, was far better suited to the gothic, grey, cold cities such as Paris that had never held any beauty for Nadir. Cities such as Paris, comprised of their unfeeling grey stone and so often coated in the muck and grime of everyday life, reminded Nadir of Erik perfectly; it was hard to believe that his forbidding and withdrawn companion could feel every emotion with unequalled passion, or could make music to outshine even the greatest of composers- and yet he came alive in this riot of emotion and beauty just as the bland stone of Paris came alive as the everyday bustle and rush spilled out onto the mucky streets, transforming it.

Nadir knew that there would never be another man quite like Erik; he had the ability to create wonders the world had never even dreamt of with his music and his design, and yet he did not require the praise of the world to continue. It was not that he was modest, or shy, he was simply so used to living a forgotten life beneath humanity that he no longer needed recognition or praise from anyone save himself. If he was happy, that was all that mattered; Nadir knew that Erik had no idea how fulfilling this way of life was, nor how respectful he was of it. Of course Erik's lack of desire to show off also contributed to his success as a composer- his music could be more dramatic and ridiculous than that ghastly diva from Paris, La Carlotta, but because he did not brag or boast or blast his music at anyone he could, it remained dark and mysterious and alluring.

They continued through the thick crowds that filled the camp completely, threatening to burst at the seams, and as they fought their way into the most popular area of the camp Nadir was forced to reach out and grip onto Erik's arm to stop himself from being washed away by the sea of clamouring people who surged outside one particular tent. The immovable wall of people further proved the accolade of most popular attraction, and Erik took a firmer hold of Nadir's arm and began to barge his way through, the violin case proving to be quite the battering ram. Nadir squealed as Erik's far from gentle grip inflicted great pain on his wrist, but it was preferable to being lost in this overwhelming mass of frantic visitors who didn't seem to understand the concept of orderly queuing.

Amid the tightly packed, body odour and alcohol stinking crowd of eager locals stood one of the gypsies. He was balanced precariously atop an overturned bucket, calling out to advertise the act or show or whatever it was that was causing so much excitement amongst the squealing fools around them.

Erik strained to hear the gypsy, finally managing to pinpoint which words were his in this mass of noise and struggling to comprehend the words due to the man's thick and unusual accent- it was probably made worse by the fact he was a swaying drunkard- but once he managed to blot out the other noise and focus on his words alone, his understanding became quick and painless.

"Come in, come in tonight and see an Angel! Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, an Angel from heaven for you to see tonight! Come in, come in, a sight you won't want to miss!"

The crowd began to move towards the gaping opening of a large, dull and rather lifeless looking tent and Erik decided that this must be the tent that held the supposed Angel. He turned to join the crowd as they moved along towards it, oddly curious, but Nadir tripped and yanked on his arm harshly to steady himself.

"Come on, Erik, let's try and fight our way out of this mess and go back to the boundaries- it was cooler there." He yelled over the excited chattering of the crowd, his face flushed and his eyes glassy with the unbearable stuffy heat. "We don't need to see some poor wretch dressed up as an Angel. We could be earning money- I've decided to sell herbal remedies whilst you play the violin."

But Erik, stubborn as anything and set on viewing this spectacle for some reason he could never hope to fathom, would not agree to the Persian's perfectly reasonable proposition, wordlessly shaking his head and heading once more for the flow of people, already rummaging for some money to hand to the gypsy guarding the entrance to the tent. Nadir, made irritable by the heat and confused, placed a well earned thump between Erik's shoulder blades.

"Erik!" he exclaimed in a nearing hysterical voice. "What the blazes are you doing? Have you gone insane?!"

"I'm curious, Nadir; what makes this attraction so very popular?" he replied, not at all fazed by the punch Nadir had sent rocketing at him, or the fact that Nadir's face told him he was likely to receive another very shortly. His ears pricked up, suddenly hearing something from inside the tent that explained the popularity of this attraction. "Ah- did you hear that, Nadir? There's a piano inside that tent. That must be why it's so popular, it's a singing act- we should see what the quality is like..."

Nadir was too hot and bothered to muster the energy to argue. He knew, with an annoyed slump of his shoulders, that now Erik was set upon this venture into the stuffy tent he would have to endure it, as changing Erik's mind when he was in such a stubborn mood was not possible. It might break into a row if he did try to resist, but Erik would win that row and then be irritable even once he got his own way. It was a sad fact that Nadir knew, from years and years of experience, that the painless way to endure unpleasant situations such as these was simply to let Erik do as he pleased. That way, it would not extend any further than the present and would be hassle free...or so Nadir thought as he relented and allowed Erik to tug him along.

Erik passed the money to the gypsy with the outstretched palm without prompt, too focused on the sound of the piano music to think of anything else. He was blind to the stupidly excited faces around him, deaf to Nadirs grumbling from behind him, only focused on the sweet melody of that beautiful instrument and nearly drooling with the thought of perhaps managing to persuade the gypsies running this attraction to allow him to play. Oh, the thought of being the master of a spread of smooth keys, to allow his fingers to tease a luxurious melody from the soul of such a wondrous instrument once more-! Erik was nearly stumbling in a euphoric haze at the thought alone. He gladly followed the line of people in front, so close to entering the tent now that he stopped fidgeting and calmly waited, still unable to see the so called Angel but perfectly able to hear every spellbinding note of the instrument he so craved-

But then the singing started. It reached his eardrums and froze his legs as his brain registered those notes, that voice, and he suddenly could not make himself walk. Despite the moans and yells of protest behind him as the procession of people halted behind him, Erik could not physically walk onwards, petrified to a resolute halt as he heard that- that gorgeous voice. He suddenly felt Nadir give him a shove, a hard shove, and he was so focused on the heavenly voice that he was taken unawares and nearly fell flat on his face.

"Erik!" Nadir snapped, his irritation building as the shouts from behind them became threatening. He wanted to turn and head butt the man behind, who was muttering the most offensive insults, but he forced himself to focus on the problem- Erik. "Stop being such an idiot! Move your feet like a normal human being and we'll end this ludicrous game of yours and get outside, into the fresh air. I was right, evidently- it's far too stuffy in here. Come on, you oaf, move!"

But Erik could not allow the Persian to push him along and out of the tent again. He grabbed Nadir by the shoulders, none too lightly, and shook him hard, completely oblivious to the stares and moans of the other visitors who were now starting to become boisterous.

"Nadir." He could barely speak; barely force the words to leave his mouth he was trembling so much. Nadir saw this, and closed his mouth and did not protest, letting Erik speak. "Nadir, listen- listen to that voice!"

So Nadir, after turning and bellowing the most offensive thing he could think of at the shoving buffoons behind them- unfortunately in his native tongue, so it was rather futile- tried to stop thinking about the heat and the smell, instead listening intently to the beautiful singing from inside the tent. Erik watched as his eyes, ancient and clouded with confusion, suddenly pooled with understanding; gripping Erik's arm with sudden force which made Erik tremble so much his knees very nearly gave way beneath him. Their eyes met and they came to a mutual resolve to battle into that tent as soon as possible.

For that voice, that sweet, heavenly, seraphic voice belonged to the one person in this cruel world who might be called an Angel and deserve the title. It was a voice that Erik knew better than his own, a voice that he would never be able to get to leave his mind- it was etched into his heart and soul, it commanded his mind when awake or asleep. It was a voice he had nurtured and encouraged and surrendered his heart to, a voice that had called out to him and mingled with his own to form the harmony of bliss and desire itself. For that voice, that perfect Angel's voice, belonged to the love of Erik's existence; it was the hauntingly perfect voice of none other than Christine Daae!

"It's her." Erik whispered, the words falling from his lips and sending his heart into a wild frenzy inside his chest. Before Nadir could dream up any advice on how to approach this delicate situation, let alone voice it, Erik had released his arm and dashed into the tent as if chased by demons, smack into the wall of heat and odour that came from so many bodies crammed into a small enclosed space.

He was immune to those unpleasant details, his eyes frantically scanning the entire tent as he searched for her, using the siren call of the piano and her sweet soprano tones to guide him to her as he had done all those years ago upon first hearing her sobbing inside the chapel, and then suddenly after a year- _a year _of pain and dread and guilt and torture- she was standing there in his line of sight. The frantic thoughts that were spiralling round in his ecstatic soul suddenly all collided and smashed and exploded into a million jagged pieces as his eyes focused on her, widening first in shock, and then in horror.

She was standing there, undoubtedly Christine, but standing there barely covered by a purposefully revealing, ragged dress, her hair unkempt and wild, her feet bare and dirty, her eyes staring down at her feet and utterly devoid of light or life. Erik was frozen to the spot as he took in her dishevelled appearance, the questions as to how his Christine had wound up singing in a gypsy camp suddenly becoming more imperative and demanding with each second he watched her in frozen horror. The visiting men standing closest to her began to reach out and touch her, calling disgusting comments and laughing raucously. She didn't even step back, let alone retaliate- she stood still and let them paw over her as if she were a piece of meat.

The men started to get daring, their grasping hands increasingly rougher and tugging on her- still she did not react, simply staring down at her feet. As one tried to yank at her dress, the gypsy standing at the side of the little chalked out square for her to stand as she sang saw that it was not going to end well so swiftly intervened. The piano music and her singing stopped as he took her arm, leading her away from the men with a shout to the other gypsy to herd everyone out of the tent. Christine looked like a prisoner as she was led away, following silently and stumbling a little in a way that she, the elegant and poised opera star, would never have done before. Her head bent, her eyes lifeless- Erik was suddenly lost to all propriety and consideration.

"CHRISTINE!" he yelled in desperation, and his heart hammered against his ribcage as she turned and lifted her head, peeking through her long matted curls out at the mass of people in the tent to look at him. But she didn't look _at_ him; she looked _through_ him, before turning back to her gypsy captor and following him blindly.

Erik felt all the breath leave his body in a trembling gasp of pain and confusion.

It was almost as if...as if she had not known who he was. As if she did not know him at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:**** I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.**

**Author Note:**** Hello again! Sorry about the cliffy at the end of the last chapter, that was probably a bit mean, but at least Christine is alive- if she was dead, Erik would probably be reduced to a depressive and probably violent wreck and Nadir would never live a normal life again (not that life with a friend like Erik was ever normal in the first place!)**

**Thank you so much to those who reviewed; TMara and MarilynKC. Reviews are always appreciated and leave the author with a huge smile on her face! (Oh dear, now I'm talking like Erik!)**

**So why is Christine hanging around with gypsies? More will be explained when I shut up and start the chapter!**

**Chapter...commence! :-)**

**Three- Explaining the Impossible**

The night was well past its gothic prime, losing its shadowy grip as the early morning brought the first hints of a glorious sunrise peeking over the horizon. The black void of the sky faded into light blue and streaks of orange that crowned the horizon, the birds warming their voices with sweet trills and chirps. It was these very birds that looked down upon two men; both pacing agitatedly, one with a frenzied look of desperation upon his face and the other seeming to chase him, reaching out in an attempt to calm and to comfort him. The frenzied man froze suddenly in his manic strides, causing the worried companion to crash straight into him. There was no angry response, no shove in return to compensate for the collision- he was too lost in his tortured thoughts to care.

Suddenly, he drew his foot back and sent a powerful kick straight into the nearest tree. The branches wobbled and the leave shook and this vent of anger.

"If that wretched fool doesn't hurry up..." Erik hissed, the pain of kicking the tree not breaking through the spiral of thoughts that clouded his mind as he stood outside a droopy looking tent, with more messy patchwork than a patchwork quilt. He touched the material with his bare fingertips, stroking the coarse sacking and wondering how such a pathetic excuse for a tent ever stayed up- it was rigged into position with wooden stumps and rope, hanging lopsided and miserable. He wanted to kick and rip and obliterate this atrocity, but there was something so very pathetic and failed about it that he could not bring himself to do it.

Again, he started the mad pacing, hoping that the continuous motion of feet traversing the soggy ground again and again might pass the time more quickly. He felt exhausted, as if he might collapse any moment, already put on edge and wary due to the camp and the gypsies around him but now, to find his Christine caught up in this web- Pali would have a lot of explaining to do once he got up from his lazy slumber!

As he muttered another curse under his breath, Erik felt a hand seize his arm and pull him to a stop- Nadir, of course, thinking that some meaningless drivel might calm him down. The Persian looked as stressed as Erik felt, the delirious joy that their mad search was at last over combining with his questions and his fears as to why she had ignored Erik or how she had even ended up in a travelling gypsy fair. It was a lethal mixture of emotion, a poison to his sanity, but if there was anything that would make this hellish predicament worse it would be for Erik to fly into one of his hysterical rages.

"Please, Erik." Nadir wiped the sheen of sweat from his face, his voice even strained. Erik gnashed his teeth, tore his arm away and began to pace with double the ferocity. "Believe me, old friend, I know that you're confused and anxious to resolve things, as I am-"

"Anxious?!" Erik snapped, spinning on his heel in the mud and throwing his arms out, his fingertips brushing the tent again. He fixed his eyes on the Persian, wild with fury. "Khan, you know all too well what I have been like this year, how I have tortured myself with the morbid possibilities- I thought that she might not even be alive! Anxious?! ANXIOUS?! I am being TORTURED with the fears, the questions, the hope again- we've found her, Nadir we've found her and yet...DEAR GOD, PALI, WAKE UP YOU DAMNED FOOL!"

Nadir rolled his eyes; even though he was exhausted and stressed, he was still irritated and mildly amused by Erik's diva act, watching with despair and astonishment as he managed to dissolve all sense into mad hysteria. It would be futile to try and calm his hysterical friend now- he had succumbed to his dramatic roots, and he had to simply let it burn itself out. Poor Pali was bound to suffer an onslaught of Erik's finely tuned wrath, and as he had not experienced this bad tempered Erik before, Nadir knew that it would all end humorously if nothing else. Pali would either grovel, or argue his case, lose that argument and _then_ grovel. Nadir could look upon the heated conversation to come with the air of an old veteran, having tried both responses to Erik's wild accusations in his time spent with him, and he knew from that long and suffering experience that it was impossible to win an argument with Erik.

"Gods teeth, is the fool deaf?!" Erik muttered with considerable venom, finding a loose thread on the side of the tent and fiddling with it. The material was rough, and with the friction of his fingers it rubbed one of his calloused tips raw- he drew his fingers back and found a little blood. "I swear to you, Daroga, if after a minute that lumbering baboon has STILL not roused, I will go in there and bring consciousness to him in a manner he will never forget!"

"Erik, be reasonable." Nadir muttered in return, knowing that Erik's threats were never empty. "It's barely even dawn, and Pali could well be drunk or...or he could have company."

"You think I care about his drunkenness or his female companions?! This is more important than headaches or some woman he hired for the night!" Erik booted the tree again for good measure, and regretted it, for this time he did feel the throb of pain in his toes. "PALI! GET UP, NOW!"

Nadir glared at Erik, and Erik was happy to glare straight back. They both looked terrible, miles from the smart and sensible looking gentlemen who had joined the clan last night- what was left of Nadirs hair was dishevelled from his hands running endlessly through it; Erik's sticking up in all directions from that very same practice. Both had bloodshot eyes and strained faces, their complexion tinged grey and exhausted, the lines of worry and irritation carved into their foreheads and around their mouths. Erik looked even worse, the badly made flesh coloured mask a continual blight on his appearance, but far better than exposing the horror of what lay waiting underneath.

"Why do you even want to speak to Pali so urgently?!" Nadir demanded in exasperation. "Surely we should be seeking out the gypsies who were guarding her last night in the tent-"

"KHAN!" Erik yelled fiercely, his eyes ablaze at his friend's sheer idiocy. "Christine was kidnapped by thugs the night she was taken from me, not by gypsies! Why is she here? _How_ is she here? Why has no one realised that she is Christine Daae, adored soprano and musical angel? AND WHY DID SHE NOT RECOGNISE ME?!"

Nadir did not see how the list of agitated questions had anything to do with harassing Pali so early in the morning. He raised an eyebrow, scathingly, wickedly recalling how Erik had once screamed at him that such patronising acts annoyed him most of all.

"And you think that Pali will hold all the answers to your questions?" Nadir asked, scornfully. He should have known that Erik was going to be stubborn about it. He nodded once, curtly, but then in an act that took Nadir by surprise he charged into Pali's tent, the frayed remains of his patience at last snapped and destroyed.

Nadir waited a few moments, tensing up in anticipation of what was to come. He was right to be wary- a few seconds after Erik strode purposefully into the tent, there was a piercing female shriek and an enraged bellow that sounded as if it came from Erik himself. The sound of a scuffle made Nadir wince and he had the sense to leap back from the tent opening to safer ground, as shortly after he did so, Erik exploded from the tent, dragging a barely clothed and terrified looking Pali with him as, from inside the scruffy sacking, the shrill female cries continued to demand explanation. Nadir would have gone to the woman to comfort her, but his focus was utterly taken up by Erik, grim faced yet pleased, as he dragged his supposed friend into the open and dumped him down upon the muddy floor as if he were a toddler. Nadir found Pali's astonished gaze and smiled sympathetically, though now the ordeal was over he was struggling not to laugh.

"You were never one for patience, were you, Erik." Nadir commented drily, receiving a death glare for his efforts. "I take it you have offered some explanation for your insanity so early in the morning?"

"He has- but Erik, it's barely even light yet!" Pali whinged, bleary eyed and dishevelled from the rude awakening, squinting at even the dull brightness of the early morning, with the sun not yet rising up to spread her golden rays over the countryside. "You've succeeded in scaring my wife and I to death...now, can this not wait a few hours more-"

"NO!" Erik roared, his shoulders slumping shortly after the outburst; now that Pali was here and awake his mind seemed to comprehend that shouting and falling into a raging fit would not answer any questions. Nadir saw how his face fell, the anger in his eyes gone, instead leaving him slumped and gloomy as he found a tree stump and sat heavily down onto it. "I'm sorry Pali, I simply...I simply don't see why she did not recognise me. Has she forgotten me? _How_ could she forget me? Oh God..."

"Has who forgotten you?" Pali asked with a yawn, either too sleepy to recognise that Erik was distraught or simply not a tactful person. The gypsy's casual question did not help matters- Nadir flinched and awaited the outburst as Erik registered Pali's words and the complete lack of urgency in them.

"Pali." Erik was conscious of Nadir's eyes on him, balling his fists and speaking through gritted teeth. Pali looked up, bored. "Tell me this, you ass; why is Christine Daae, Paris' best soprano and nationally renowned star, stuck here in this cheap circus act as a filthy angel gimmick?! HOW DID SHE END UP IN YOUR TRAVELLING PRISON?!"

Pali's brown eyes suddenly widened, his mouth falling open so comically that Nadir had to turn away and splutter into his hands, for fear of Erik's wrath being turned onto him. The gypsy looked honestly confused and astonished, completely oblivious to Erik's wrath in his amazement at what Erik had actually said.

"_The_ Christine Daae?!" he asked, gleeful excitement taking over his face and tone. "Our Angel act is _Christine Daae_?! Truly?"

"YES, YOU BLOCKHEAD!"

"Well, I must say that this IS an interesting development, if not a little odd." Pali continued, unshaken by Erik's murderous tone, glare or how he was curling his fists and cracking his knuckles. It was as if his carefree attitude were a bubble, enveloping him in blissful stupidity and rendering him fearless. "Because she never mentioned it, you know- never said anything about Paris or opera. But then she doesn't really know much, so I shouldn't be surprised."

"Are you implying, Pali, that Christine is unintelligent?" Erik snarled, and Pali merely shook his head, looking strangely amused by the conversation he was having. Nadir didn't know if he should note Pali's blasé approach to Erik's temper with approval, or if he should be concerned for the man's sanity; either way, he had neither grovelled nor argued yet, so Pali was far more capable than he had assumed. "Then do elaborate, you oaf, before I do something I regret!"

"Ah, Erik, I didn't mean that she was unintelligent- I meant that the girl doesn't know who she is. She doesn't know, or rather cannot remember, a thing about her life- only that she is Swedish and her father, a violin player or musician of some description, is dead." Pali explained in that same casual manner, not seeing how Nadir turned in a flash and gaped at him, or how Erik seemed to freeze and turn a sickly white.

Erik was conscious that Nadir was moving towards him, gripping his arm, murmuring words that he could not focus on to understand them- it felt as if the blood running through his veins had frozen, as if his heart had stopped beating, as if he was supposed to fall dead to the floor. No. Pali must be mistaken- she couldn't have forgotten so much. How was that possible, for the majority of someone's life to wiped from their memories, like chalk on a blackboard; surely memories were more than that, more substantial, records of emotions and occurrences and people-! Erik felt his knees wobble and threaten to throw him to the floor; everything they had shared, all his lessons and conversations and that gradual growth of love and friendship to that final heavenly peak...gone.

"We picked her up- or rather someone in the clan did, I don't know exactly who- from a bar somewhere in France before we left for Eastern Europe about a year ago, perhaps." Pali continued rattling on, and Erik felt Nadir's hand tighten on his arm. He was too numb to speak. "She was in a bad way, pale as you are now Erik and covered in blood- we thought she might be dead to start with. She was dirty too, muddy and wet with rain, and after someone had the sense to lay her down and see if she was alive we found that the blood was from a bad injury on the side of her head. None of us are particularly skilled in doctoring and medicine, just using the natural remedies we know of and common sense, so we bathed the wounds and kept her warm, tried to get her to eat when she woke up...but she was instantly disorientated and confused, deeply upset and crying hysterically about her father, not able to answer any of our questions. She looked at her reflection as if she didn't even know who she was, screamed like a banshee when we came near her. She thought she was in Sweden, didn't know why she could understand our French tongues so well...it was horrid to watch." Pali paused, licking his lips, his eyes troubled. "As I said, none of us in the clan know very much about medicine and injuries. We supposed that her confusion must be from the injury, but we didn't know how much damage it had done- clearly, if she cannot remember much, it is more serious than we thought. "

"Then what happened? What did your gypsy masters do?" Nadir asked in a numb voice, still gripping onto Erik; he did not know if it was more to comfort Erik, or himself.

"They let her recover for a little while, and then put her into a singing act." Pali shrugged. "She never once said anything about singing- perhaps they thought she was pretty and that made her good for the act? I don't know, it was a year ago and my memory is not good...wait. Why do you care so much for these details?"

Erik felt Nadir shift from foot to foot. He wanted to speak, to ask more questions, to tell the Persian that he did not need to be held as if he were a crying child, but the ice that was in his heart and veins had taken his ability to speak. He fought to recall the moment he had first heard her voice in the queue for the tent- she had sounded the same as ever, still perfect and of operatic quality if a little rusty on technique, but still brilliant...could she really have no recollection of all that at all? If she did not remember Paris or her training for the chorus, which had begun as soon as she left Sweden as an orphan, but could remember that her father was dead- Erik gagged as he realised; Christine Daae could remember nothing past her father's death, when she was seven years old.

That meant she knew nothing of eleven years...eleven years! Nothing of lessons, of stories, of how he had stopped her tears! He was nothing to her, erased as easily as a figment of imagination, as good as a Phantom in the real sense- to her, he had never existed!

"How is she now?" Nadir asked quietly, apparently having realised that his friend was incapable of speech and so deciding to ask the questions he knew would be troubling him. Nadir sounded and felt as if someone had bashed his head in with a huge stone club and wanted nothing more than to sit down and let this dreadful turn of events register with his brain. He wanted so much to revive Erik from his shock with his usual assured, logical optimism- but this time, when faced with such an onslaught of terrible happenings, he was not convinced that he would be able to think of anything hopeful to say, logical or not.

"She is fine in health, aside the apparent memory loss. But she is also a loner, avoiding all contact with anyone else and never talking from her own free will." Pali sighed a little, his eyes sad again, not pestering Erik for the answer to his question and for that Nadir was infinitely grateful. "She is a beautiful young woman, as you know, and has a heavenly voice but she is alone, and confused. Not knowing a thing about who you are must be...well, terrible." Nadir felt Erik shudder. "She has awful dreams- nightmares, actually. She is depressed and unhappy, but who would be anything else in her predicament? Despite this, she is one of our greatest attractions...to think, I never knew that she was the great Christine Daae!"

Erik was shaking from the description he had just endured; listening to Pali's words, imagining how lost and alone his poor Christine must feel, how scared she must be... he looked up from his feet and shrugged Nadir's hand away from his arm, trying to make sense of all the information he had been given, trying to find some hidden loophole that must make it all void and false.

But he could find none.

"Nadir..." his voice cracked, his shoulders shaking again as he bent over and closed his eyes tightly, a child trying to contend with great pain. Nadir looked at him sharply, his hand flying out to make contact with his arm again- he could almost see everything caving in on his friend, reality delivering that death blow. "She cannot...she cannot remember me...everything we shared...everything is gone...it cannot be. It cannot be!"

"Now wait one moment, Erik." Pali suddenly demanded, the curiosity back in his tone. Nadir realised, with sinking dread, that Pali was going to demand an explanation after all. Could the fool not see the catastrophic affect that his words had had on Erik? Or him, for that matter?! "Why do you care who Christine Daae does and doesn't remember? And don't try to evade the question or lie this time- I deserve to know, so that I might help you however I can."

Erik turned his face to the sky, seeing that in this shattering conversation he had missed the dramatic sunrise, the orange in the sky already fading out to a clear blue, soft as silk and mingled with wisps of cloud. It would be a glorious day, even to someone who loved the night and darkness, with the birds singing their full chorus in the trees above him. He had often missed the beauty of daytime, and perhaps would have grown to accept it in time- but now, whenever he stood and saw a sunrise, he would be thrown back to this awful moment and he would want to die with the guilt and the pain, always asking that if he had been a little stronger, strong enough to overcome those who had attacked, would Christine be the very same woman he had given his heart and soul to?

He licked his lips and brought his hands to his face, massaging his temples in a time wasting motion, unsure as to how he should tell his old friend such bitter, dark things. He had known and trusted Pali as a child, but in childhood there was innocence, and Erik was far from an innocent child these bitter days.

"There is no clear or believable way to explain my attachment to Christine Daae, angel on Earth and perfect soprano. The simple fact of the matter is that I love her- I love her with all my heart and soul and there was a brief moment, a snatch of bliss, in which she told me that she loved me in return." Erik said in a voice so soft Pali could barely hear it. "She told me this heavenly truth and moments later we were attacked, she was knocked to the floor, she was taken and I failed to stop it." Erik took a deep, shuddering breath. "I should have been stronger; I should have known that something bad would happen!"

"Erik, don't say such ridiculous things!" Nadir exclaimed.

"But I don't understand! Christine Daae was involved with a Vicomte of some sort, a patron at the Populaire!" Pali spoke over Nadir, his voice stained with confusion. "I remember hearing gossips when she disappeared, just before she joined our clan I now realise...wasn't she supposedly abducted that night by a masked madman who was her tutor? The Phantom-"

Pali stopped short, the words suddenly cut off as his eyes widened with disbelief, his gaze flitting from Erik, to Nadir and then back to Erik. As his pallor faded to a ghostly white, Erik felt a misplaced sense of relief that he wasn't going to have to tell his friend himself.

"You must be jesting, surely." Pali whispered, not sounding necessarily displeased. In fact, Nadir noted with an exasperated eye roll, the madman sounded thrilled. "Erik, little Erik, the Phantom?!"

"Yes." He spoke harshly in reply, not wishing to dwell on the matter for any longer than required, wishing to return to the far more pressing issue of Christine and her lack of recollection. "And don't call me 'little Erik'- when have I ever been 'little Erik' to you, you ass?"

"Ha!" Pali erupted into laughter, tears actually springing from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks as his shoulders heaved with the hysterical reaction that neither Erik nor Nadir had anticipated. "Ha ha ha! You were that Opera Ghost who irritated everyone so much? The evil Phantom? The dark composer and skull headed ghoul?! Why, that is utterly brilliant!"

Nadir glanced at Erik, whose face was turning from greenish pale to purple with rage, before turning back to the now hysterical gypsy and raising an eyebrow. Was the man incapable of exerting even a minimal amount of self control? Pali saw Nadir's expression and instantly held both hands up as an apology, his laughter so extreme that he could not find the breath or the pause to actually speak properly.

"I'll not risk asking you to explain what is so 'utterly brilliant' about it, Pali." Nadir commented drily, turning instead to Erik, who had just been dragged through such varying emotions that he looked faint. "Erik, the most important thing that we must do in this situation is remember that we have now located Christine and that she is alive and well."

"But she doesn't-!"

"Wait." Nadir cautioned his friend in a soft voice, seeing that Erik now had tears sparkling in the corner of each golden eye, like jewels. "That doesn't matter for now- the mystery of how she came to lose so much of her past and who her captors were remains, but we can now stop searching all over France like crazed loons!"

Erik nodded sullenly, not really knowing what else he could do. It wasn't as if Nadir, or the insane Pali, could understand how he was feeling- they weren't experiencing the same feelings of heartbreak and bordering insanity as he was. Nadir's calm and logical words, as usual, made an impression on him that took away a little of the gloom to be replaced by sense and realism; Christine was alive and safe, even though she didn't remember him anymore. Her safety was his first concern, no matter what he felt.

"You know, this isn't such a terrible thing. The fact that she's forgotten you entirely means that she's forgotten all the bad things too, all those moments you wish you could return to and turn them into successes rather than failures." Pali mused aloud, and Nadir turned to him sharply as his voice became worryingly wistful. "If it were me and my wife, Rose, in this predicament, I'd try to rewrite all my wrongs- smooth out all the bumps in our relationship, like the time I told her that her sister was prettier than her...or that a _horse_ was prettier than her...yes, I would be the perfect husband, using all my knowledge of what she loves and loathes to my advantage. I don't know why you're complaining Erik- you have been given what most men dream of; the chance to re-write your wrongs with a woman you love!"

"Pali..." Erik spoke slowly, his brain absorbing the gypsy's words as a huge grin broke out on his face, making Nadir want to slap Pali for putting such an awful idea into Erik's head! "That is...that is genius!"

"It's also lying and taking advantage of someone you supposedly care about, Erik!" Nadir cut in hotly, hoping that even a shred of Erik's sense remained to spark up and agree with him, putting an end to this dreadful scheme before it even started. Did Erik not know that nothing good ever came of lying and scheming when those you loved were at risk?!

But by the looks of things, Erik no longer cared.

"She's forgotten me- she's forgotten all about the Phantom and my jealous acts of wrong doing! She's forgotten about my lapse in sanity- she will not recall her little fop!" Erik's grin seemed to widen if it was possible, his eyes glinting as he mentioned Raoul de Chagny, slapping Pali on the back in a manner that made Nadir want to slap _him_ around the head. This was Christine he was discussing- the woman he adored! Surely he could not be so stupid as to imagine that using her injuries as an advantage would ever go in his favour! "I can start afresh, the way I always wanted-! We can sing together, we can talk and laugh and- she will fall in love with me, Erik the human being, the normal man, not some Angel she believed in as a child!"

"Erik..." Nadir warned again in a dark voice, shooting Pali an evil glare that he did not even notice- he was too preoccupied with considering what he would do in Erik's predicament, muttering about his wife's sister again. Nadir could see why this idea would appeal to Erik; the chance to obliterate the Phantom from history, to be normal- it was something he had always wanted, and Nadir knew it. But he had never thought that his friend would be so ruthless and conniving, especially when Christine was involved! "What if her memories come back? What if she remembers more than she has told anyone? Lying and sneaking around never helped anyone and you especially cannot afford to make another stupid mistake where that woman is concerned! Be rational, man!"

Erik rolled his eyes and patted Nadir's arm as if he were a senile old man, spewing nonsense that no-one cared to hear anymore. His eyes were sparkling again, optimism bubbling away under his skin and Nadir could not be unhappy with this change in attitude- he did, however, maintain that uneasy feeling that this brainless idea Pali had unknowingly planted would end badly. Even if it succeeded and ended in happiness for all, it was still wrong to use the poor girl like this- no matter how much Erik loved her, or how much she had loved him, it was no excuse to manipulate and lie, even if the intent was harmless!

Oh God Erik, Nadir thought desperately, please don't do something you'll regret.

"Nadir, I am merely going to be selective in what I tell her in my quest to befriend her." He snorted, entirely carefree. "And besides, I fully intend to help Christine regain every single memory, negative one's included...after she has fallen in love with me. Then we shall return to Paris, to the Populaire, to our home Nadir! This hellish nightmare will end and we will be happy at long last."

"Ummmm...Erik?" Pali spoke up softly, trembling a little with nerves. Nadir realised the problem before the words were out of the gypsy's mouth, and was not sure whether to be thankful or irritated by this further complication that would prove difficult and time consuming to overcome. At least if it took time, Erik might wake up from this feverish state he had wandered blindly into, to see sense and rectify whatever damage he had caused by then! "I hate to bring a negative to your optimism, but Christine Daae is...well, not enslaved, but...you understand that she is our best attraction? No-one in the clan will want to let her go- she is guaranteed income forever with a voice as heavenly as hers..."

"CHRISTINE DAAE IS NOT YOUR SLAVE!" Erik snarled, launching towards Pali and gripping his shoulders, towering over him ominously as he shook him. "I will free her from this damned clan of yours, love or no love, so you had better start preparing for yourself and your barbaric leaders for it."

"You know, as well as I do, that they are lost in their own world- they do as they please."

Pali sounded so sad and full of regret that Erik instantly released him and stepped back, looking at his hands in astonishment. Why had he been so violent? He knew it wasn't Pali's fault- it never had been. Once again it was a matter of whose side you were on, and Pali had been born into the clan, his gypsy lineage a matter of pride and heritage. Really, he should have been fleeing to his masters right away, to tell them that two crazed men were intent on stealing away their greatest attraction...but Pali wouldn't do that, as by some miracle, he seemed to possess more humanity than most of the others in the clan, though his idea of what was good might be a little slanted at times.

"Well, you also know that I do as I please. Your leaders won't stop me from exercising justice for the woman I love." Erik spoke as if in a dream, looking up to the sky again and finding the sun amid the pale blue. It was almost too bright to look up, and he flinched and blinked several times as he looked back at his surroundings, seeing blotches in his vision. He peered back towards the camp, seeing caravans and tents in their endless haphazard rows, like a maze. "Where is Christine's tent, Pali?"

"Erik-" Nadir gasped at his friend's urgency, expecting him to want to formulate a plan rather than charge straight into the matter of befriending her. Pali looked worried.

"Tell me she is in a tent and not a cage!" Erik hissed, taking Pali's expression to mean the worst.

"Oh, calm down Erik! Of course she is in a tent." Pali retorted, starting to find Erik's overreactions aggravating and finding a little sympathy for Nadir. "It is too early to go visiting people- she will still be asleep, and rightly so." He made the last comment icy sharp, referring to his own rude awakening.

"Well tell me now, and I will go to her later, when everyone else is up." He demanded, not fazed by Pali's huffy comments.

"Erik, no! I already told you that she is a recluse!" Pali argued, and Nadir noted with feline satisfaction that his predictions were coming true at last- now, the wait for Pali to grovel. "She won't want to see anyone, especially you as she doesn't even know who you are!"

Erik looked from the red faced Pali to the anxious faced Nadir- the smug expression had faded quickly- deciding that they were both obstinate pigs with no sense of urgency or importance. Instead of using his normal retaliation of arguing or hitting something with great force, he shut his mouth and strode away from them and into the maze of lopsided tents, ignoring Nadir's yell of outrage that echoed after him, turning only to say;

"Fine- I will find her myself."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:**** I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.**

**Author Note:**** So the mystery remains as to why Christine Daae is in the gypsy camp! What happened to the thugs? Is her apparent memory loss true? DUN DUN DUUUN! Sorry about the kind-of-cliffy last time, it's just so tempting to end dramatically ;)**

**Huge thank you to those lovely reviewers; TMara, ListenToTheRainS2, Kumon5, Filhound and MarilynKC. Reviews are always appreciated, as I love to know what your thoughts are. **

**And now, onto the next chapter, with Erik and his perhaps morally incorrect resolve...**

**Four- Familiar Strangers  
**

Christine Daae awoke as she always did; screaming. As soon as her lids shot open and the terrible, frightened reaction exploded from her mouth, making her dry throat cry out in pain, she scrambled up and looked frantically around her, her heart pumping furiously inside her chest and her limbs trembling as if the ground beneath her was shaking too. Her eyes flitted over everything, piecing normality back together, trying to come to terms with where she was. At last, when she was reassured that she was just in the tent, the same stinking, horrible tent, she allowed the tears to come- great gasping sobs that made her sound three years old.

Sweat dripping from her face and still shivering with fright, she hugged her knees to her chest and pressed her tear stained face against them, rocking herself to and fro in the deluded hope that she might calm herself down. Her curls, damp with sweat and clinging to her flushed face, soaked up her salty tears and she hid behind them, as if the curtain of hair could protect her from yet another day of terror, confusion and utter hopelessness.

"It was just a dream- a foolish dream. It cannot hurt you." She told herself aloud in a shaky voice, just to fill the echoing silence. "Just a dream..."

And, as always, in the tortuous fashion she had come to know and understand with a resignation that sickened her, the frightening images that made up her nightmares slowly faded away and allowed her to stop trembling pathetically as her heavy breathing became calm and her tears stopped flowing. She took a deep breath, that became a sigh, and pushed the mass of damp curls back from her face so that she might stretch her neck and look up at the poorly stitched canvas that had housed her for the last year, hating it and everything it stood for. She shivered again, slightly, the nightmare still leaving cold chills running down her spine for a reason she could not hope to know.

It wasn't as if it were any different to usual- it was always the same dream that reduced her to this quaking, terrified state so she ought to be used to it by now. But could one ever become used to and comfortable with sheer terror and utter horror combined? In the dream, she was in the dark, alone and terribly scared as she cowered and tried to hide as best she could from a voice; a voice that screamed and bellowed and cursed at her, telling her she was damned to spend eternity like this, never allowed to leave the darkness and return to the light.

The content of the dream was bad enough, making her feel shaky and paranoid, but what truly terrified her was the thought of how her subconscious had managed to conjure up such a dreadfully realistic dream- the voice was so distorted by tears and anger, the darkness so choking, the chill of fear icy and biting on the back of her neck as she cowered and begged with real tears running down her cheeks. Could it be possible that she had in fact endured something so sinister and horrible in her life? She had no way of knowing, her last true memory being the death of her beloved father, remembering how he had smiled weakly at her as she sat by his bedside, sobbing and begging him to stay with her. Seven years old she had been when that shattering event occurred...she was clearly far from seven years old now, but Christine did not know her age or anything else about herself- for after that memory, that memory from a ruined childhood, she recalled nothing. It was as if her past had been engulfed by a huge, choking mass of fog; she kept telling herself that she would resurface, recall the truth, know who she was, but the haze was not clearing even after a whole year of horror. Every time she felt as if she might be close to something, as if reaching out and just brushing the desired with her fingertips, it was snatched away and buried deep within the black hole that was her mind- forbidden, untouchable, locked away from her consciousness. It was starting to turn her insane.

Unable to bear sitting in that tent for a moment longer, Christine got up and crept outside of the tent, escaping the stuffy heat and what should have been the snores of the other women like herself- only most of them now slept in the tents and caravans of the men, their vacant beds in the tent they were meant to share a constant reminder to Christine that she was luckier than some; her body was still her own, even if her mind was not. The tent sat on the boundaries of the camp, so as soon as she escaped into fresh air she could duck straight into the damp, leafy foliage of woodland, savouring the cool breeze and feeling her heart skip with relief as she found the small stream she had noticed last night. The cool water felt like heaven on her sticky flushed skin as she splashed it against her face, a cool kiss from nature, reminding her that some things, such as simple pleasures, were unchanged.

She rarely was allowed to be alone; always watched by leering men and raucous visitors, never allowed one moments rest from the wandering hands and harsh demands. She was constantly subjected to the daily chores of the camp, made to stoop over damaged clothes and tents like all the other non-gypsy women, sewing and patching the coarse material until her fingers bled and her back ached. Sometimes she would be required to cook, or wash the disgusting clothes, gagging with repulsion at the stains and smells she found lingering on the garments of the clan that were so rarely washed. She had tried to run away, abandon this life she had no control over, but she had been found collapsed with exhaustion not even a mile from the camp. The gypsies were ruthlessly meticulous- there were always a few on guard against thieves and a few more would spend the duration of the stay in the nearby towns, scouting for potential earning opportunities but also to seize any escapees who were in the camp by force, not through choice.

It could have been worse for her though- Christine was very aware that some of the girls were passed around the gypsy men like human toys, used like objects. It went further than just the wandering hands she had to endure daily; many of the women, younger than her as well as older, had several children clinging to their skirts and Christine could not imagine how broken they must feel, being reduced to the status of a prostitute and then having no help when they were left with the result. Some were gypsy women, and some seemed to enjoy being desired- but the others broke Christine's heart to look upon their faces and see the life gone from their eyes,

She was given better treatment than some, purely because her singing had become a huge attraction for the clan. But just because she was not used as a glorified prostitute, or made to eat the scraps, did not mean that life was pleasant- she wanted to be free of this barbaric camp, to taste what the world had to offer and try, as desperately as she could, to find out why she could not remember her past. Knowing her name and the first seven years of her life was not enough-what of the rest? It was a right that had been taken from her, and Christine intended to take it back- how, though, was another matter entirely.

Once washed in the cool water of the stream and dressed in one of the shapeless, brightly coloured dresses she had been told to wear in the day, Christine attacked her hair with the barely useful comb she had begged from the gypsies months ago, and once that arm aching ordeal was over she pushed it back and sat with her feet in the trickling water, not caring as the icy cold turned them purple and numb. Right there, amongst the beauty and quiet joy of nature, with the birds chattering above her and the gorgeous smell of wet leaves and fresh air around her, it did not matter that she was part of a gypsy clan or that she did not know her past- she was merely another girl in the world who wanted to savour the snatch of peace granted to her.

However, that peace was soon harshly stolen from her by the sound of footsteps- a twig snapping underfoot, the rustle of leaves- and her eyes shot open and she stood up as quickly as she could, seizing a large stick from the ground and holding it firmly in her grasp. The clan had given her one thing- knowledge of how to stand up for herself. Even though she was told to be submissive and obliging during performances, Christine was defensive and brave in all other circumstances. She would be all too happy to use her stick weapon to send this intruder sprawling, given the chance, and she glanced around her, adrenaline pumping through her veins with only the slightest edge of fear.

"Who is that?" she demanded in as menacing a voice she could manage, her eyes still darting around her. She nearly screamed when a man suddenly appeared from behind a tree, her stomach lurching first with the anger that he had been hiding behind there- and goodness knows for how long- and also with rage as she realised just who the man was. It was that odd one from last night, the one who had stared at her as if he were in pain to look at her- he was tall and dressed only in black , looking dishevelled and slightly less intimidating than last night. But still, she recalled how his staring last night had made her feel horridly uncomfortable, and it was this awkward shiver down her spine that made her words venomous and explosive. "You! What on EARTH are you doing?!"

Erik, still cursing himself for tripping and crashing into a tree as he stormed through the dense woodland in a dark sulk, was stunned into speechlessness and had to fight to keep the disbelief from flying onto his face- Christine was loitering in the woods? His shock soon became that same hopelessness as before; she looked feral and wild, as if him venturing closer would cause her to unleash all her anger and that sizeable stick onto him. What had happened to his shy soprano?

He was unprepared for this meeting, expecting to have found her in a tent and not in the woodland, but now he considered it...was it not better this way, to make it seem utterly random? Ignoring the twinge of his conscience, he decided he ought to start with Pali's suggestion now; there was no reason not to, after all.

"I am walking in the woods, Mademoiselle." He replied in a careful voice. "I'm sorry if I alarmed you, I tripped on a tree root..."

Christine gave a scornful laugh, still gripping the stick so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"Just walking?" she asked in a cold voice, her face pinched with disgust. Erik found, though, that her eyes were the only part of her that was not seething with fury- in those eyes he had found such solace and beauty in was now fear, fear that came from him. He tried not to show his reaction to this, balling his fists so tightly that his nails cut into the soft flesh of his palm. "I _saw_ you last night, in the tent, gawping and staring at me. And now you've come to stare some more, have you? You're all the same, so animalistic- _it's disgusting_!"

Erik did the only thing he could do convincingly- he laughed, softly.

"I'm sorry for misleading you, but you have reached the wrong conclusion." He said in a calm voice, his heart beginning to race as his mind seemed to at last accept it- this was Christine, his Christine, and he was talking to her again, hearing her voice after so long without... "I'm not actually a visitor to the clan, well, not from the local towns anyway. I am Erik; I am a musician and I plan to tour with the clan for a short while, to earn some money. Last night, I hope you will forgive me for my staring, but it was only because of your voice- it was beautiful."

As she heard the name Erik, Christine felt something sharply twist inside her. She wanted to curl in on herself, nurse this pain that had jarred her, but the realisation of how stupid she had been to accuse this man with such venom was dawning on her, and she dropped the stick as her face flushed bright red, burning with embarrassment.

"I...I'm sorry." She replied in a soft voice, all bravery crumbling as she hugged herself, unable to meet his kind eyes. She felt as if this man was owed some explanation for her outburst, and yet she wanted nothing more than to return to her tent and cower with the shame of it. "It's just that...that...I thought that you were like those men last night, you saw them, they only want to- I'm sure you can guess. I was stupid enough to assume you were the same. Thank you for saying that about my voice."

"It is well deserved." He replied softly, fighting to control the unspeakable rage that had bubbled up inside him and was now threatening to explode out in a manner that could rival a volcanic eruption. What men had stared and groped and touched her like that, made her see all men as leering perverts? If he ever met one of these blights on humanity, it would be very bad for the vermin...very bad indeed...

Christine, the painful conversation out of the way and her rude outburst perhaps made up for, sat back down on the leafy ground and stared again at the stream before her, watching as the plucky water made it's battling journey over rocks and mounds of greenery that stuck out of the banks, obstructing it's surging path. When she turned her head, to see which bird it was above her singing sweetly, she at once felt her jaw clench and her previous anger return. That _Erik_ person was _still_ there, watching her again with those uncomfortably sad eyes.

"Don't you have a violin to tune?" she demanded acidly as she scrambled up, his presence only reminding her of how stupid she had been. She was struggling to understand why it bothered her so much- she didn't even know this man, and he was bound to be the same as all the others, gentlemanly manners and sweet compliments aside. "Because it's rude to stare at people!"

Her words were like a sting to Erik- he jumped, unaware that he had been staring as his musings took him to dark fantasies in which he could murder every foul bastard who had touched and leered at his Christine. He was desperate not to make her angry again, so desperate that he fumbled for a reply and blurted it without any thought.

"I'm sorry, Christine."

She gasped and rounded on him with blazing fury, charging towards him as her bare delicate feet traversed the rocks and brambles with not even a wince, and Erik realised as he cringed at her bare feet against that rough surface that he had just done the very thing to ruin everything- using her name when she was supposed to be a total stranger?! What made it worse was that now the hateful anger on her face was openly mixed with fear and confusion- Erik could have kicked himself for being such an oaf.

"How do you know my name?!" she demanded in a shaking voice, her usually warm brown eyes glaring into his. Even in anger, they had the power to make his knees tremble.

"I-I...I asked Pali your name, when I heard you singing, last night..." he managed to think on the spot, grasping the idea and choking the words out frantically, stuttering in his haste. "You know Pali?"

"Yes, I do know Pali." She replied irritably, her voice and her face telling him that she was in no way convinced, but had no choice but to accept this explanation. She could hardly accuse him of lying, when she knew nothing about him. Erik looked at her properly then, taking in her appearance and registering the details in his mind- her brown curls were longer than he had ever seen them, still exploding in every direction and seeming to beg him to slip his hands amongst those gorgeous waves of beautiful perfection. She was skinny and frail, in a way that made her seem a touch too unhealthy for his worrying mind to be at ease, but despite the dirt and the grime she did seem unhurt and, dare he admit it, better in the sense that she could now stand up for herself. The longer he looked at her and took in all the parts of her that were unchanged, the more he wanted to hug her, to kiss her, to fall at her feet and sob out his misery and guilt and delight to be able to see her again...but she did not know him, let alone that she had loved him. "What kind of musician are you?"

"Pardon?" Erik had to ask, dizzy from his thoughts and unsure as to her words, having been too lost in his fantasies again to have paid any real attention.

"I said; what kind of a musician are you?" she repeated with a touch more venom, which made Erik grin slightly- this only made her scowl deepen, so he hastily wiped the smirk from his face.

"I play for my own love of music- I have learnt how to play most instruments, and I sing too, upon occasion...classical music, operatic arias, my own compositions...it doesn't matter, for I love music in whichever form it takes." Erik threw in any details he could, hoping to trigger some memory of hers, to make her cry out in realisation that it was he, her tutor, her Angel...

"You sound very talented. My father was too a musician, though not as talented as was required to earn any real money from the art. He loved it though, poured his soul into every piece..." she paused for a second, looking at him hopefully. "My father was-"

"-Gustave Daae." Erik finished, seeing her eyes narrow momentarily and then flood with tears of happiness, which she fiercely wiped away, not understanding them and yet knowing that to be able to have a normal conversation with someone about matters she understood meant the world. "Yes, I supposed that you might be his relation- Pali told me your name, you see, and the coincidence of your talent and your name seemed too great. I knew of your father's work- he had great ability, which you have clearly inherited."

Christine laughed- but to Erik's joy, this time it was sincere and warm. He had obviously done well to compliment her father as for the first time in a year he saw her smile. It was just a small upturn of the lips, but it was enough to fill him with euphoric delight- until he realised, with a sudden pang of guilt, that he was manipulating his knowledge of her to extract these reactions. Did the lies make everything false? Erik wished he had thought of this guilt earlier, for there was no going back now, and the smile on her pretty face made him want to hurtle blindly into this web of lies and manipulation, regardless of consequence.

"Oh, no, you cannot say that and mean it. My father had such passion for his music, he was far greater than I can ever hope to be." She corrected him warmly, though the sadness seeped into her tone again as she lingered on the memory of her father, how he had been so weak and pale, barely able to sit up in that shabby bedroom, telling her she must be a brave girl and continue with her music- "His death still feels raw, as if he died yesterday and- and it hurts so much."

Erik felt horrified as she began to cry, not knowing what he should or could do. He felt awkward, standing there and watching as she shuddered with the tears, passing her a handkerchief and feeling his heart stutter as she wiped her streaming eyes and her lip trembled. He did not know if to put an arm around her would be too familiar, too odd for her- he wanted to hold her and tell her it would be alright, but the position he had assumed did not allow him to be so close. Pali's descriptions and his own assumptions had come to the unstable conclusion that Christine remembered no further than the death of her father, a traumatic and lasting event, the point at which her life had broken down and the troubles had started- after all, it was her desperate craving for a father like figure that had led to her utter dependency and naive belief that he, calling out to her through a wall and an mirror, could actually be an angel.

It was clear to him now that she had no recollection of Paris, of him, of anything else save her father and that would mean that the memory of his death was one of her only memories; what a tortuous situation to be in. It would make everything so much worse for her...

Erik remembered then that he had the picture of Gustave Daae with him, which might give her some comfort, but in reality there was no way to give her such a thing and not seem strange. After all, the man was not an international interest- how could he explain owning such a thing? No, the picture would be saved for another time.

"I personally believe that with your voice, you could easily become world famous." He told her with a hopeful smile, trying to distract her from her sadness and struggling to decide how he could do this and seem natural. She managed a small smile back, her tears already drying up on her cheeks as she gave a sigh and stared up at the leafy canopy above them, where sunlight occasionally made it through to the ground below. Erik decided he ought to chance asking her to sing with him- this was his best guess as to how he might bring her memories back to her, hoping to remind her of a past she thought she no longer knew, and given all his other mistakes such a simple request could hardly ruin everything. "But I would so love to hear your voice again- not in the grim spectacle of this garish place, but here perhaps. Would you like to sing an accompaniment to my violin?"

Christine looked up sharply at his words, searching for some hidden request amongst the seemingly innocent suggestion. This man...he was odd, nicer than she had expected any stranger to ever be, and whilst it was a comfort to speak with someone who did not scare her, she did not feel entirely comfortable around him. It was strange, a sensation she could hardly explain, and yet she knew it was that fact he was a stranger- a stranger who, for some mad reason, she felt as if she knew. Her mind told her harshly to be careful, to not be won over by mysterious men and their comforting words, and she held out the handkerchief for him to take back with a small thank you.

As he shook his head, gesturing that she should keep it, she realised what seemed so odd about his face- he was wearing a mask. A flesh coloured mask. Perhaps it was confusion, or the odd stirrings in her stomach as she wondered why this person felt so familiar, but she could not catch the words before she blurted them like a fool.

"Are you wearing a mask, Monsieur?" she said the words with no tact, a fact she realised as his hands flew to his face, his eyes filled with shame and embarrassment. She, too, felt mortified by her stupidity and a blush tainted her cheeks again, this time burning with guilt too.

"Yes. Yes, I am wearing a mask." He replied softly, wondering briefly for how long she had been staring at it and working out why he looked like such an abnormal human. "My face...it...I..."

"I'm sorry." She whispered, and Erik wanted to tell her that it was not a problem, that he was not offended, but she had already turned away and started to move towards the camp again. She was like water, constantly slipping through his fingers, no matter how hard he tried to reach her and hold onto her. Would it always be like this? As if he were touching her through the mirror- so close and yet so far away, so untouchable? "And I...I cannot sing with you- I am needed around the camp. Thank you for the handkerchief- good day."

With that she hurried off, deftly picking her way through the undergrowth as if she could not escape this mortifying situation fast enough, and Erik again felt his heart squeeze as he sensed that he was losing her again.

"Christine, wait!" he called out in agonised desperation. How he wished he had caught the words before they slipped out...he could barely breathe as she turned, her eyes wide with surprise yet not the anger he had expected. Perhaps he sounded so wretched that she could not bring herself to become angry with him.

"Yes?" she asked in a gentle voice.

Erik had to lower his gaze, for fear of staring again- as she spoke gently; her eyes were warm and beautiful, just as he remembered them from those days in Paris, the days he had not known to appreciate.

"Nothing." He muttered, angry that he was being such a fool. "I might well see you again- perhaps we will meet in circumstances such as these again."

She looked quizzically at him, one eyebrow raised as if he were mad, before turning back around and leaving as she had originally intended. This time she really did go, disappearing from his sight and back to the camp, and as soon as she was gone he fell to his knees with the sob that had been battling to escape his lips since he had stumbled upon her. In a way, it hurt even more that he could see her and talk to her so normally, even though she was utterly different- changed by the brutal life she had been subjected to with these gypsies. It was too normal, too real...

Erik sat down numbly in the place that Christine had been sat when he interrupted her and scared her, staring at the stream just as she had, wondering what she had been thinking as she saw him come out into her line of sight. She had seemed quite content and comforted by his conversation by the end of their talk, and yet there was still a barrier, a force preventing him from reaching her.

But she had fallen in love with him once. Nothing could change that.

Erik stood up and straightened his jacket, the meeting with Christine having made one thing perfectly clear to him- whether she recalled her past or not, she was still Christine, and was still the woman who had captured his heart and pierced his world of darkness and solitude with love and light. He did not care how long it would take, or what he would have to do. Christine Daae _would_ love him again, memory or no memory.

And once he had her, Erik knew he would never let himself be so brainless as to lose her again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer;**** I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.**

**Author Note;**** So Erik, as we probably all knew anyway, is not a 'smooth talker'. And he thinks way too much, so the guilt is already starting :-( Luckily he has sensible Nadir and clueless Pali on side to help him, with much well meant abuse and insults all round. Yay for Erik's crew :-D**

**A huge thank you to my lovely reviewers; Filhound, ListenToTheRainS2, TMara and MarilynKC. It's so interesting to see what your thoughts are :-D Reviews are, as always, very much appreciated!**

**TMara- Christine knew her last name was Daae as she can recall everything up to her father's death, which is about the first seven years of her life. Sometimes I get so caught up in writing the action that I forget to clarify these things, lol :-) **

**I will now cease my ranting and present to you...Chapter 5.**

**Five- A Plan To Sing**

The tent, with all its patches and drooping fabrics that were worn from years of use in all weather, was gorgeously warm and smelt strongly of food and spices. This homely aroma wafted from the slightly open flap, tickling Erik's senses and beckoning him in with that promise of comfort and ease. But nothing could comfort him now, not when he felt ancient with exhaustion and weary with the constant battle his emotions were fighting inside him, so he prepared himself for the onslaught of eager questions that were bound to follow, before seizing the rough material of the sagging tent and bursting inside. As the warmth kissed his face and made his shoulders droop with the relief of being able to flop down somewhere, his eyes trailed over the brightly coloured interior and soon found Nadir and Pali arguing comically over cuisine.

Nadir was in the middle of his passionate defence of the Orient, his arms gesticulating wildly and his face flushed as he tried to describe one particular dish, but as he turned to see why there was a sudden burst of cool air sneaking in he noticed the sullen looking man dressed only in black, lingering like Death in the entrance, and immediately the amusing argument fell from his lips into silence.

Pali, his usual oblivious self it would seem, did not take note of the tired look on Erik's face- how his skin was grey and drained of life, how his legs were trembling, how his shoulders sagged, or even how his yellow eyes took in the scene before him without even a flicker of amusement. Nadir instantly feared the worst- he had cursed Erik bitterly after he had stormed away into the trees, spitting his thoughts out venomously to a silent Pali, demanding no-one in particular to explain to him why Erik could never be sensible. But though he might curse and complain bitterly, Nadir knew he was only this angered by Erik's stupidity because he cared for the complex man as if they were brothers, and he could not bear to consider that Erik had suffered again this morning.

"Erik!" Pali exclaimed brightly, leaping up from his position on the floor in one boisterous bound, much like a dog or monkey. Even though the gypsy was a fully grown adult, the same age as Erik in fact, it was impossible not to smile when he leapt about the place or made his oblivious comments- even Erik looked as if he might give a fond sigh. "Did you find your opera singer, then?"

The faint glimmer of amusement faded instantly, and Erik pointedly ignored Pali's question, walking straight past the bewildered gypsy only to sit heavily down on the floor next to Nadir. Nadir looked warily at Erik, sensing his friend's agitation and knowing from experience that such dull silence was always followed by a fiery outburst.

"Old friend?" he probed gently, and Erik automatically gave an irritated sigh, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Did you-"

"Yes, I found her, you irritating wretches- there is no need to leap at me and look so pathetically worried!" he growled in a low voice, glowering at each of them and colouring a little as Pali stared back-unaffected- and as Nadir shook his head, as if noting to himself that this was another childish outburst of Erik's. Such a thing, combined with the odd pangs of guilt that had begun to swirl sickeningly since he had begun to weave his lies to Christine, was enough to seal Erik's bad mood and he continued his rant with unnecessary venom. "I found her, of course I found her, and she did not remember a thing about me- all recollection of me is gone from her mind! I talked to her, tried to be as amiable and gentle as any perfect man could be, yet she remained hostile, scared, cold, declining any offers I dared to make- she did not even seem to care that I was kind and flawless! She was...she was different...she cannot be Christine! She is gone, taken from me forever- my Christine is gone!"

Erik flung the words out as his composure spiralled and collided with insanity with cataclysmic effect, throwing his head back and letting one angry yell explode into the otherwise calm tent. Pali's previously unaffected and mildly amused expression was now tainted with the first hints of concern, and as he made to step forwards and encourage Erik to sit down- the gypsy never seemed to be scared to approach Erik, even when he was reduced to such states as these- Nadir stood up and made the few angry strides towards his seething friend.

His wise, old, leathery face was staring into Erik's, who was red and furious, with a look of complete disbelief and there was even fury dancing in his always gentle eyes. Erik brought both hands to his temples, massaging the tender place on either side of his head and grimacing, trying to ignore the look of utter outrage that had now crept across his friend's features.

"Erik, I think I must have heard you incorrectly. It can't be that I have endured a year of searching all over France with you, sleeping in disgusting hovels, stretched to the limits of my sanity and exhausted only for us to stumble upon the stupid girl and for you to decide that you have changed your mind!" Nadir bellowed, his voice having become louder and more outraged with every word. He reached for one of the brightly coloured cushions littering the floor and hurled it straight at Erik's head. "No, Erik, _no_."

"Did I once say that I had _changed my mind?!_ You know nothing, Khan- you know nothing of how I am feeling, and I hope you never have to understand such horror as what I feel now!" Erik yelled back in reply, steadfastly ignoring Pali's pathetic pleas that they both calm down and talk sensibly. Nadir was too outraged and exhausted, and Erik felt as if a hurricane of emotion had just blown over him and left his insides in complete chaos. "To find her in this stinking place that tortured me as a child, to know what she must have witnessed and felt in such a place as this, to find that I am as good as a stranger to her now despite all we had, to realise that I have lost her forever and that there is no way to bring her back out of that emptiness- my mind is unchanged! I love her as desperately as the first day, perhaps more so! BUT SHE DOES NOT EVEN KNOW ME!"

"Yes, she does, you utter simpleton." Nadir fumed, stalking off on a maddened pace around the tent, kicking the cushions furiously out of his way rather than picking them up and moving them. After the third brightly coloured cushion went flying across the tent he seemed to realise that he was destroying someone else's property, and in the manner Erik had come to expect from his righteous friend, Nadir coloured and proceeded to pick them all up and dust them down. "The problem you face, Erik, is that your plan will fail. I don't quite know what you expect to come from lying to her and crafting some new relationship if what you want is to return to how things were, before all this mess. I don't know if recalling the memories she has lost is possible, but if it is, you will never trigger these memories if you lie! You must coax her Erik, gradually re-introduce her to all she once knew and wait for the memories to come back."

Nadir's words seemed to appeal to the guilt that had bubbled up in Erik since his talk with Christine this morning. It seeped into his veins and spread feelings of self-hate and despair all around his body, and with a slight tremble of the lips he collapsed to the floor in an exhausted heap.

"But how can I possibly do such a thing?" he wailed miserably, losing all his anger and dissolving into a hysterical heap. Nadir's logic often had this effect on him, once his anger had fizzled out- there was something so dependable and paternal about the Persian that simply made Erik crumble like a child and want to dump all responsibility onto him rather than try to endure it himself. "I can't just put on my old white mask and hover around her all day, waiting for her to remember!"

"Oh for goodness sakes man, must you be so dense?" Nadir groaned. "Sing!"

Pali, upon seeing Nadir sit heavily down a few metres away from Erik, joined them on the lumpy ground and peered at each man warily, trying to decipher if there were likely to be any more hysterical outbursts from either of them. Anxious to prevent any physical fights, he made sure that he sat between them with his arms extended a little as if he was trying to keep them apart. Little did Pali know that fights between Erik and Nadir were verbal and sounded bitter, as if they would hate each other for all eternity having screamed such horrid things, but they always ended swiftly with forgiveness guaranteed. Suffering through near death experiences, fear and Erik's own insanity in the days of Persia and Paris had forged a bond that was far too strong to be broken by mere words.

"I told you already, Khan, she declined any offers I dared to make- she did not want to sing with me, despite our conversation about music and her father and all my compliments. Oh, Nadir, I must have sounded like a silly young fool, throwing compliments at her with every opportunity, but still she was not persuaded!" Erik gave a great sigh, the dramatic part of his personality relishing in this melodrama.

"Well, that is hardly surprising, as you had supposedly only just made her acquaintance and probably seemed far too eager, coming up with an idea like that on the spot." Nadir shook his head as if in despair. "I did try to tell you, Erik, that we should plan such important things as these rather than go charging headfirst..."

"No, Khan, I did not dream up this suggestion to sing in the moment- it was always my plan, my first original plan that sprung to mind in those tortuous hours waiting for Pali to wake and explain himself. It seemed a good idea, to have her sing all the old arias from when I taught her and when she at last sang on the opera stage, to attempt to bring back her past through the music she lived and loved at the time...who knows what could come from such a thing? Perhaps even returning to the Populaire? All the old faces and the sights, the smells, the sensation alone of being in such a place- that would surely be enough to help her rediscover her past, Khan, surely?"

Pali looked up at the desperate yet defeated tone of Erik's voice, his mind replaying the words and stumbling upon a brainwave, a brilliant idea that would solve all their problems! With a sudden gasp of elation, he began to forage in one of the many piles of clothes and cushions and meaningless nonsense in the tent, digging through the possessions like a madman, a dog on the scent, and when he found at last what he had been looking for her pounced upon it and with a triumphant cry threw it at the concerned looking Nadir and Erik.

Both men stared down at the piece of paper that had been thrust into their hands, unsure as to why Pali looked so delighted to have found an old, torn and barely legible paper advertisement for the gypsy clan. It was a boastful piece of exaggeration and fiction, claiming to be home to all kinds of acts and to sell all kinds of potions and charms that would supposedly cure you of any ailment and bring you good fortune. Erik remembered these from his childhood, the large and often misspelt posters with lies plastered all over them that would lure in the paying public. Claims that the clan had with them the living death, the son of the Devil himself, had certainly attracted very many indeed.

"I fail to see the relevance in this tatty work of fiction, Pali." Erik said acidly.

"Then stop moaning and let me explain, Erik! The problem you face is that your out of the blue and no doubt worrying offer to sing with her, though she had only just met you and was no doubt a little concerned as to why you were so desperate to talk to her, failed." Pali said bluntly, making Nadir smother a snort of laughter. There was a twinkle in the gypsy's eyes and he continued to look very pleased with himself. "But what if we arranged this singing differently? What if, for example, the clan decided that we were in desperate need of a new musical act- a _good_ pair of singers, to perform every night for paying customers? We are sadly lacking in good quality entertainment, so we would simply have to place our two best musicians together...you and Christine!"

Erik realised what Pali was suggesting, and as he looked back down at the pitiful paper in his grip, he felt his opinion on this matter divide into two opposing sides. Part of him thought that he should leap at the chance- it would secure him a position within the clan whilst he was trying to win Christine over, it would allow him to sing with her daily and try to prompt her memories and, he hoped, Christine might be happier if she could have conversations about her father and music with someone who cared; she had seemed to light up in the conversation today, until his impatience had ruined everything.

But, of course, there was also the fact that he already felt guilty concerning the lie weaving and the lack of truth, and he hated to think that Christine would be miserable and blame him for being forced into another act by the gypsy clan. She had already been hostile towards him this morning, and Erik didn't know if pestering her was a good idea. Nadir's stern facial expression told him what he already had guessed- as usual, his righteous friend would be firmly against anything remotely reckless and unfeeling that Pali suggested and afraid of feeling even guiltier, Erik felt inclined to take his cautious approach rather than leaping in head first.

"I don't want to force Christine to do anything that she will loathe, even if in the end it results in her remembering me." Erik said firmly, Nadir nodding in agreement.

"It doesn't have to be a matter of forcing her, you know. I could try asking her if she would agree to a new arrangement that would result in her singing with you. It might seem more natural coming from me, rather than a stranger." Pali suggested brightly, refusing to have his optimism tarnished by Erik and his constant gloominess. "I can ask her as if it were a favour, give her a definite choice and ensure that she doesn't feel pressured to agree. Though I still don't understand why you can't just tell her about her past and enlighten her that way, if the pretending is making you feel uneasy..."

"And would you, Pali, believe a person you could not recall meeting if they told you a past that you could not recollect, especially if the said past was as terrifying and unbelievable as Christine Daae's past is?" Nadir demanded, though sounding fond of the overly optimistic gypsy. "Though I do like your proposition of talking to her and offering her this new singing arrangement. We must be gentle and considerate- so long as nothing threatens to take her away from us again, we have all the time in the world to take a well planned approach to helping the poor wretch, and piecing the details back together to discover what precisely has happened to her. We must, above all, remember that she is a person, memories intact or not."

"Indeed." Erik agreed vehemently, nodding briskly. Nadir looked a little astonished by Erik's lack of resistance to his opinion, not used to having such enthusiastic agreement. "But what if Christine...what if she still refuses?"

Nadir, encouraged by Erik's sensible and calm approach now that his temper had well and truly died down, picked up the clan leaflet again and stared thoughtfully at it simply for something to do whilst his mind considered the question. His frown was one of concentration, his eyes focused. When it came to Erik, Nadir exhausted every effort in trying to help him. He knew that Erik would do the same for him.

"If she does refuse to agree to the suggested arrangement, then we must return to the idea of you befriending her through 'chance' meetings and the like." Nadir replied eventually.

"But I doubt it will come to that, Erik. Christine will like being with another musician- you know she misses her father greatly, and as he was a musician you surely would remind her of him and be a comfort to her." Pali chipped in with another almost dopey smile, eager to encourage Erik in his idea. "And you can be devilishly charming to ladies, I'm sure."

As Erik blushed a little, Nadir snorted a laugh and earned a light prod from his beetroot coloured friend. Pali watched this and found himself questioning how such good friends, with such a brotherly relationship, could be at each other's throats one moment and acting like carefree youths the next. He decided that it was a mark of their honest friendship, and smiled broadly at them both.

"It wasn't even supposed to be funny, Nadir." Pali grinned, making the Persian man snort a laugh again as he slapped Erik lightly on the back, all three of them standing up and stretching their legs with similar grimaces at the pains of being sedentary for too long. Pali could tell from the light that was beaming in through the slight gap in the tent opening that it was around midday- to him, that was a sign it was time to act. "So, are we agreed? Is this our plan?"

"I suppose that this is our agreement." Erik nodded, the reality of the plan dawning on him and making him feel a little uneasy. "Pali...she'll think that I asked you to arrange this, given that I already suggested that we sing together. Please don't let her think that- make whatever lie you need, just do not let her think that I asked for this."

"Oh, Erik, I'm not an idiot you know. Of course I will play with the truth just a little, to make my case believable." Pali nodded with a slightly wicked grin, heading for the tent opening and preparing to step outside into the cool breeze. "I'll go now, then."

Erik's head turned sharply towards his old gypsy friend, searching for any hint of teasing or humour on his weathered face, but he could not find it. Both he and Nadir looked at Pali with grave expressions, he slightly more nervous than the Persian, but both of them very aware of how much relied upon this one conversation. Erik felt sick at the swirl of nerves in his stomach and the adrenaline throbbing at his temple.

"Now?" he repeated hoarsely, and Pali nodded with an untroubled expression.

"There would be no point in delaying." The gypsy reasoned in an easy voice, not at all concerned for the aghast look on Erik's now bone pale face. "Besides, I don't see why you need to be nervous at all. Even if she turns the offer down, it will be to me, not to you."

"He does raise a fair point, Erik." Nadir added quietly, trying not to sound as if he was ganging up on Erik and bullying him into an agreement.

Erik, feeling pressured by their equally grave faces with their unshakeable arguments, felt reluctant to voice the reply he knew he had to give. As Pali said, there was no reason to delay. Unable to force the reply, he nodded first, and saw relief flicker across the others' faces.

"Fine." He finally managed to say in a hollow voice. "Just...please be kind to her, Pali."

"When am I anything else?" Pali replied warmly, and then before Erik could utter another word or try to stop him, the smiling gypsy had danced happily out of the tent, seemingly unaffected by the truth that Erik's fate rested on his happy shoulders.

_**In another tent, somewhere else in the camp...**_

Christine Daae cursed bitterly under her breath as the coarse fabric she sewed up rubbed her still delicate fingers raw, the sinister stain of blood smearing onto the ugly sacking, discolouring it a little. Not that it really mattered- no one cared what the inside of a tent looked like. Christine bit back the tears that sprung into her eyes as the tender flesh stung, and she had to take a deep breath before returning to her frantic stitching, wincing at the pain the harsh fabric inflicted on her raw fingertips.

It was a task she hated, sewing up these rips and tears and snags caused by a lack of care when handling, or by tree branches in the wind. It was such a demeaning and insignificant existence, constantly hunched over what felt like acres of painful material, with no end in sight. There always seemed to be rips that needed mending, clothes that needed washing, fires that needed tending or caravans that needed cleaning and it was always her and the several other girls who the clan had scooped up from somewhere or other, willingly or unwillingly, who seemed to be given these arduously boring chores.

She felt as if her situation made the tasks worse- the other girls chatted throughout the day, gossiping about everything and nothing, kidding themselves that they were a group of friends on a social visit, not stuck slaving away in a gypsy camp. There seemed to be friendship and honest loyalty between them; some were family so remained close, some had forged bonds of friendship, some spoke the same language so held onto that as their reason to be together and not alone. They all always seemed to have someone to talk to, someone just like them that they could brave each day with.

Everyone except for her.

Christine knew, really, that it was her own fault that she was so isolated and excluded from this group of women who survived together. She had not helped herself, ignoring everyone unless they spoke to her first, not even attempting to find if she had anything that could make her similar to another one of the women- but then Christine often wanted to be alone with her thoughts, and it was only on a few rare occasions such as these that her lack of friendship with anyone truly bothered her. She could sing to herself to pass the time and keep herself sane; old Swedish lullabies straight from the blissful days of childhood, and also the old stories and riddles that she and another child had shared.

She clung to that memory- of her and a little boy, whose name she was sure had been Raoul, playing and talking and laughing away together. They had tried to scare each other with dreadful horror stories in the dark attic of the old house, giggling more often than they screamed. Their games had been brilliant fun for the both of them, Raoul succeeding in vexing his governess by falling into muddy puddles or diving into the sea to fetch her scarf simply to make her smile.

It was the thought that if she could find this boy, this Raoul, who she was sure must still be alive and remember those childhood days as she did, that kept her going through these endless painful days. For if they had been childhood friends, she was sure that he must be able to help her rediscover all she had lost...maybe...

Christine pulled the needle though the fabric and pulled the sacking taught, checking that her stitched were neat and strong as had been requested. Her fingers were numb now, no longer protesting and throbbing with pain, and as she saw that the large, ugly rip had been mended and made whole again she found herself wishing that she could sew up the hole in her heart as easily as this. It was a hole made by a year of pain, a year of feeling so lost and a year of failing to unlock a past she had once lived. Her own life was a stranger to her. Who had she been? What had she done?

"Christine? Ah, there you are, hiding away in the corner there! Hello-oo!"

Christine, feeling mortified, turned her head with all the other girls, looking up to see the gangling, grinning figure of Pali strolling up to them having just erupted into the tent like a riot of happiness and silliness, his face alight with some hidden joy that no one could really decipher. Upon seeing that he was intending to walk all the way over to stand beside her, Christine awkwardly stood up and hurried to close the distance, to stop him from continuing to stroll across to her in that oddly excitable manner. She was painfully aware of the countless pairs of eyes locked onto her, and as she moved to lay her sewing down with a frown, she noted that the other women seemed to be half curious, half fearful on her behalf. For a reason she could not understand, seeing that made her want to cry.

"Yes?" Christine asked in a voice that did not convey the unease she felt, fighting with the urge to back away in alarm as Pali grabbed her by the arm. His tiny, childlike hand was warm on her skin and she hated it, feeling terribly uncomfortable and knowing what the cattier of the women would decide this meant in cruel gossip later- as much as Christine liked Pali, compared to the other gypsies, she did not want to be thought of as his mistress.

"Come on." He said in a cheerful voice, tugging gently at her arm to encourage her onwards, not hurting her but leading her as a father might take lead of a troublesome child. Christine debated resisting, making her unease and unwilling known to him and the other women, hoping for assistance in being left alone or simply to restore her reputation and not be thought of as a mistress, but she couldn't. "I need to talk to you, Christine."

Of course, she had no choice but to stumble after him, out of the tent and into the open air. As soon as she was near the exit of the crowded and too warm tent, the chatter rose again and the relief that the women were focused on something other than her enabled her to walk with conviction. However, her unease and wariness as to what this sudden interruption could mean remained; what could Pali, harmless and gentle as he was, possibly want with her that could not be stated in front of the other women? The excitement and jittery nervousness sparkling in his eyes clearly contradicted the claim that he only wanted to talk to her, and although Christine doubted that Pali had ever held a malicious intent in his life, she still narrowed her eyes and prepared to stand her ground. Perhaps he had been sent on behalf of the elders, as he often was due to his friendly personality- already they had tried to force her to add extra elements to her singing performances, additions that had all involved degrading herself further to the level of a singing, dancing prostitute and she had refused them angrily. If Pali was here to persuade her, he would fail.

"What is this all about?" she asked when he led her to a space behind the tent, not quite having the nerve to demand an explanation as she wanted to. "Only I have a lot of sewing that needs to be completed by this evening-"

"Christine, you are an excellent singer." Pali cut her off with a broad smile. Christine took a step back warily, her face guarded. Why was everyone suddenly so complimentary of her singing? It wasn't as if she was even that good a singer, stuck in a stupid little sideshow that was hardly renowned for great talent. "We are in desperate need of a new musical act, you know. I was thinking about what might be popular, and I decided that a duet might be the answer- two excellent singers, excellent music. The attraction is obvious, of course- people love singing. Especially _good_ singing."

Christine reached out to her right and found the soft, brightly coloured side to the material that formed the outside of the tent. Her sore fingers stroked the smooth fabric and it brought feeling back to her raw fingertips, almost soothing them. In that moment she wished she could close her eyes and savour a brief respite from reality, rather than stand here awkwardly and wonder why Pali was being so gentle and kind; after all, if he wanted to replace her or ask her to sing, it was not a matter of asking- she had to do what they said.

"And how does this involve me? Surely you are not simply telling me this for no reason?" Christine asked, her tone defeated. Pali did not seem put off by her utter lack of energy.

"Christine, don't you see? You simply must be one of this duet, your seraphic soprano tones mingling with those of an equally talented male!" Pali enthused valiantly, trying to spark and interest. His lanky arms gesticulated wildly, and Christine found herself wondering if it was this constant movement that made him so scrawny and thin. "Can you not imagine it? You and Erik, your talents heightened by each other-"

"Erik?!" Christine flared up, the embarrassment from her conduct earlier making her stomach squeeze as she recalled the look on that shadowy man's face. He had made her feel strange even just talking, so she felt terrified by the thought of singing with him. "Did he ask you to do this? Dear God, can he not understand that I do not want to sing with him?! I have no inclination, no reason or will, no enjoyment for singing! I knew that he was like the rest, never willing to just let things go, to accept my reply and move on!"

"Christine, I do not understand." Pali looked confused, and again Christine felt colour flare up on her cheeks as she realised how hysterical she had seemed with that outburst. "I didn't know that you had met Erik- he has not asked me to do this,_ I_ am asking _you _first. I thought, or rather I hoped, that you might take comfort in another musician who is an...an outsider to this clan. He is very talented, you know, an excellent musician and composer."

Christine hugged herself tightly, again wanting to close her eyes and forget that this conversation had ever happened. Again, she had leapt to the entirely wrong conclusion simply because Erik made her feel strange, and she still felt incredibly sad and pathetic at the word 'musician'. She was still angry at her fate, angry that the last thing she could remember was her father's death, angry that she had somehow ended up trapped in this place she so loathed and unable to change that. Could there be a fate crueller?

"I met Erik just this morning." She replied eventually, in a quiet voice. "He did mention that he was not part of the clan, that he was a musician...he was very kind."

Pali seemed to register this and perk up again with that same excitement that had no reasonable justification. It reminded Christine, with a twinge of annoyance, that Erik had told her that it was Pali who had told him her name last night. Why he had been so open with such information when normally the gypsies were reluctant to reveal any kind of information to anyone outside of their exclusive clan?

"Then...if he was very kind to you, will you sing with him every night in this new duet act that I have devised?" Pali asked hopefully, and Christine again wondered why on Earth he was bothering to ask when he knew as well as she that she had absolutely no choice in such matters.

"You know that I will do what is asked of me." She replied softly, looking away again. "It's not as if anyone gave me a choice before, Pali, so you need not use this great persuasive act. You and your clan decide what I do now; I will do what you ask."

Pali cleared his throat in a manner than seemed awkward and nervous, shifting from foot to foot where he stood, so when Christine turned her weary eyes back to him she was actually taken by surprise to see hurt in his dark brown eyes. Her words had clearly bothered him, as he tried to hide the fact but the truth could not be concealed soon enough- Christine knew that he had never done anything bad to her personally, so felt a little guilty, but she was glad that he felt remorse. Perhaps then he would talk to his elders and persuade them to let her go at long last.

"I like to think that you have not suffered with us, Mademoiselle." It was Pali's turn to sound uneasy and quiet. Christine had a hundred and one replies she wanted to shoot back in his face- well what did you expect me to say, that I love it in your slavery circus? What does it matter what you like to think- what about what I think? Why should I listen to your remorse, is it supposed to comfort me? Why can't you just let me go?!

She knew she could not give these replies, no matter how she desired to do so, and in the end she settled a for a quiet yet biting response that she hoped would make him think about her and her wish to be somewhere else all the time until it became too great to bear.

"I remember nothing else, except a distant childhood with a dying father. Not pleasant memories, but they are all I have- and yet I cannot say that life in this clan is in any way preferable to those horrid days that I remember." She said icily, far too stung to care for her rude tone anymore. "And whilst it is true that I am not ill or dying here in this travelling circus, I still wish for my freedom. But I suppose you might argue that I owe your clan everything, so the right is no longer mine."

"Christine...I cannot offer you things that are out of my authority, but I do offer you freewill and choice in this matter. This time, the choice is entirely yours, and it makes no difference to me if you agree or decline." Pali spoke in that same quiet, defeated and ashamed voice that still shocked her, as she had expected anger after her rude reply. "I do not wish to persuade you, or pressure you, but I might advise that you accept. If you feel as alone as you say, perhaps a friendship with Erik would be good for you. You said yourself he was kind, and he is not part of the clan- he would no doubt consider it an honour to sing beside you."

Christine thought back to earlier, to the conversation that had provided fifteen minutes of escape, lost in a normality she had thought was gone forever. She had felt disturbed by Erik, her heart drawn to him as if she knew that he was kind and someone who might offer some unchanging peace and comfort in this endless turmoil- but that must just be her fantasising, for how could she know something like that about a man she had never met before?

Once she stopped dwelling on her rudeness and her embarrassment for such acts, she could recall with surprising simple happiness that he had complimented her and spoken about her father, seeming so anxious to appease her, even as a complete stranger. Such kindness certainly suggested good things about him; everyone else drank and grabbed at her, swore and laughed at her, took her and put their rough hands all over her as if she were an object to please them and their disgusting needs.

"I would be far more honoured than he. I will sing with him." Christine decided and spoke firmly, cutting off her worrying thoughts with a shudder and facing Pali with a cool, calm attitude that seemed to surprise him.

"Well then, Christine." Pali smiled, the gloom forgotten as he extended a hand for her to shake, which left her staring at the outstretched palm in complete confusion. "I suggest that you come with me, then. You can tell him yourself, if we manage to find him- come along."

Pali resumed his hold on her arm and started to try and guide her along again, but Christine did resist this time, her feet glued to the hard ground beneath her. Pali looked confused, but she spoke before he could.

"My sewing. I cannot abandon my duties." She reasoned, glancing at the tent and craving that quiet solitude in a way she never had before. But Pali did not react in the way she expected- he simply laughed as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard, using the temporary lapse of obstinate strength to pull her along behind him, smiling again with that dizzyingly happy expression that, this time, annoyed Christine to the point of anger. "What on Earth do you find so funny?!"

"Oh, nothing- only that if I get my way, Christine, you will never scrub and sew in this clan again!"

As she was tugged along by the bouncing, laughing Pali, Christine Daae actually smiled; charmed by his reply that made no sense but was so cheerful she had to be happier to hear it. She looked up at the open sky above her and the few birds that flew through that expanse of nothingness, free to do as they pleased, and she promised herself that soon she would be that free. But now, in a manner that she could scarcely believe, she actually felt happy as she walked along through the open air.

She didn't have the courage to admit it to herself, having no justification for her feelings, but Christine knew that a great proportion of that happiness came from the excited anticipation she now felt at the thought of seeing Erik again.

Pali noticed her smile from the corner of his eye and threw back his head to laugh jubilantly, scaring a group of birds in the branches above them and scattering them noisily into the open blue sky.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:**** I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.**

**Author Note: ****Hello all! So, it would seem Christine is happy to talk to Erik again, with or without Pali's helpful input. I know that he's my own character, so I have to love him, but I do have a soft spot for Pali and his weird ways...though Nadir is still Erik's number one best buddy of course :-)**

**Thank you so much for those lovely reviews; Filhound, TMara, MarilynKC and a Guest (bonpetitepoodles). Reviews are very much appreciated and I love reading all your opinions on the story! Thank you so much :-D **

**TMara- Christine was a recluse and never told anyone anything unless forced, so she never actually told Pali her full name. Thank you for highlighting the unclear areas of the story- I get a bit carried away sometimes, lol- and if anything else is unclear please do let me know so I can clear things up :-) **

**And with all that said, now we may progress onto the chapter!**

**Six- Singing Once More**

After hurrying through the maze of lopsided tents and battered caravans, Erik finally reached the fringes of the gypsy camp, bursting out of that uncomfortable atmosphere and into the open greenery that lay beyond with a gasp as if he had just swum up from the deep to take a breath of air into his deprived lungs. He needed to get out of that colourful, worn down endless spiral and into the open- the sitting around and waiting for Pali to return had started to grate on him, and he had known when Nadir ducked out of the tent for a second that if he had not fled then, he would have surely gone mad. With a desperate sweeping look around him, his eyes caught sight of a little stone wall- a crumbled, ancient boundary between two stretches of land that had since become wild and untamed- and he sat heavily onto the jagged stones and felt his shoulders sag with relief.

It was calm and quiet, no noise or commotion to distract and to rob this peaceful landscape of its soothing tranquillity and as Erik sat gazing down upon the spread of picturesque landscape before him, he wondered why it was so difficult in this chaotic life to savour such moments as these. What was so hard about standing for a mere ten minutes, or even ten seconds, breathing sweet air and letting that endless silence clear the mind of all the troubles that gradually poisoned and tormented it? Erik had never been one to endure, let alone enjoy the daylight hours; he hated the sunlight and the way those unfeeling rays blinded you and burned the skin, he detested the sweat and the flush that came with sticky heat and he had no great love for the typical outdoor joys- rolling down grassy hills and summer picnics, even walking through miles of countryside or exploring the bustle of a quaint village market, were hardly pastimes that gave comfort to a deformed man who wanted to hide from the world. The sunlight was unforgiving, leaving no place to hide in those garish rays, so Erik had spurned the daylight as often as he could in favour of gentle darkness and concealing shadows.

Of course that didn't change the fact that some perverse part of him dreamt of such carefree summer pastimes. He could imagine walking down those rolling hills in the distance, he could see himself ducking through that pretty little town perched at the bottom of the gentle slope before him- he would happily endure and enjoy such things, if he had Christine by his side, clutching his hand, her arm linked through his own and smiling broadly at him and the world around her. It was as if she were really here beside him now, her wild curls tumbling free in the slight breeze and her eyes alight with the wonder of gazing upon such a lovely landscape. But that image was as false as the mask upon his face, and Erik closed his eyes so as not to look upon the landscape that seemed tainted now by his unrealistic dreams.

He had only been stood there with his eyelids firmly shut for a few minutes when he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder, and expecting to find Nadir or Pali stood there, ready to scold him for creeping away to mope somewhere alone, he turned around immediately. As he did so, and his eyes made contact with the person stood there fidgeting with an adorably nervous expression on their face, he felt his heart rocket and collide with his ribcage with a force that hurt. For there, with her arms wrapped around her defensively and her eyes lowered shyly, stood Christine Daae.

Her eyes looked up from the grassy floor then to look quickly into his own, and as always he had to fight to remain standing and sane- though filled with a wariness that made him feel ancient with sadness, they still shone and seemed to beckon him closer, endless depths of emotion and warmth and beauty.

"Christine." He breathed, the words so soft and desperate that her eyes clouded with alarm, forcing him to gather his frayed thoughts and pull himself together- a scolding voice oddly like Nadir's berated him from inside his frantic mind, so he stood up a little straighter and forced a smile. "Hello, again. What brings you away from all the rush to set up the camp for tonight- or are they done assembling their spectacles?"

"No, they are still..._preparing_." Christine replied bitterly, twisting the word so it became stinging and disgusted. But then she looked at him again, smiled and began to speak in a far friendlier tone, taking a seat not half a metre from where he had originally perched on the little stone wall. Erik was surprised to see her so at ease and friendly, but then he could tell from the way her eyes darted about that she was forcing the overzealous tone. He sighed a little, and resumed his seat. "But I have come to tell you something- Pali told me that we are...we are meant to be singing together tonight. Pali said that the clan needed a new musical attraction and he asked me if I would sing with you. I- I said yes."

"Oh." Erik replied in an indifferent voice, fighting not to show his elation on his face or in his tone. When he next saw Pali, he was going to tell him what a genius he truly was- the plan had worked! She had agreed to sing with him! "Well, I am happy to agree to this arrangement- it will be an honour to sing with you. Perhaps we can even learn from each other, both of us being outsiders and a little lost in this clan."

"That's...funny." Christine mused aloud, her tone odd as she tipped her head to one side with a hint of a real smile playing at her lips, wreaking havoc on Erik as his heart began to stutter erratically and his face began to heat up. Please, he thought wretchedly, please do not let me blush like some stupid young fool simply because she smiled. "I was thinking that very thing earlier."

"Perhaps this was meant to be, then." Erik replied smoothly, realising as _she_ blushed prettily that this conversation was meant for some fluffy haired young man trying to woo a beautiful young woman. Christine suited her role, the epitome of beautiful, but Erik again felt the surge of guilt crash over him as he realised that the lies were, once again, flowing freely from his tongue.

It was scarily easy to weave this elaborate facade, to pretend that he was a complete stranger as she thought she was to him, and Erik felt sickened as he realised again that this was him using her mental state as an advantage to his scheming and plotting. Perhaps the end would not justify the means- perhaps, even though every intention he held was good and for her benefit, he was treading a path from which there was no return. A path that would come back to haunt him once her memories were returned.

"Erik, may I ask you a question?" Christine ventured shyly, pulling Erik from his gloomy thoughts and forcing him to return to normality, nodding once to allow her to continue. "Why...why are you touring with the clan? Pali spoke so highly of you as a musician- surely you could do far better than this travelling con?"

Erik had been set to smile and nod, or shake his head, to whatever question she had asked- what was difficult about this was that he was never sure whether he was being too familiar with her, or too cold as a result of trying not to seem desperate. Acting as if he did not know her, when he probably knew her better than anyone else, was a feat he was certain he had not yet mastered- but questions such as these were far more worrying and difficult to navigate; Erik had no response to give, and was left floundering for a few painfully silent moments to think of what on Earth to say to her.

He didn't want to sound as if he liked the gypsy way of doing things, or as if he were a part of their life and culture- he wanted to show her that he was like her, despairing and stuck in a situation that he could not escape from, hoping that a mutual disgust might bring them closer together. Of course, the truth was not an option- not yet, anyway.

"I..." Erik felt heat flood his face as she looked at him as if he were insane, struggling to respond to what should have been an easy question. In a desperate attempt to start feeding some truth into the facade, Erik made the decision to be as honest as he could without compromising everything he, Pali and a reluctant Nadir had decided upon. "I am in a predicament that has no easy answer and travelling with this clan, when an old friend offered me the chance, seemed the best option out of a poor selection. I am in need of the money that playing music here provides, with no home to go to due to other circumstances that- well, there is no need to dwell. I was enslaved here as a child, rather like you, and although I loathe returning Pali made me an offer and I am not in a situation that allows me to refuse." He saw that she was staring at him, aghast and a little alarmed by the extent of what he had openly revealed to her. "I...I'm sorry, I didn't meant to alarm you, I-"

"No, don't be sorry. I...I am just a little shocked that you- I'm sorry, but do you mean to say that you have no family? You are alone?" Christine asked in a stricken yet desperately hopeful voice, her expression shifting from horrified to sadness as she went to say something but then bit the words back, as if she wasn't sure if her words would cause offense or pain. Erik watched her carefully, seeing how she steeled herself to continue speaking, as if it required great courage to do such a thing. "You have no-one to go to, no-one to care for you, no-where to escape to and know that you are safe and loved and happy?"

Erik realised with a shudder that she was near tears, desperately probing to find if he- someone she only knew as a mysterious stranger that she would have to sing with- was just like her. Oh my goodness, he thought in one second of panic before composing himself and deciding that this was a good thing, what have I done?

"No people or places to speak of. My mother hated me and was, I think, rather terrified of how strongly she loathed me- she is dead now. My father died before I was born." Erik could speak of his parents, his poor unkind mother who had been terrified of him and his deathlike appearance and his father who belonged in idle musings of 'what could have been' more than reality, without a care. He had lost that sense of betrayal, or that feeling of being cheated out of happiness by fate and the nature of his mother, and their names and roles in his life had faded into insignificance. "I do have a companion, but he travels with me and faces similar problems to myself. It's not a bad existence- I'm not lamenting to you and complaining, just...just telling someone who seems to really care."

Christine had to press her trembling fingertips to her mouth to stop a little gasp escaping along with the hot tears that threatened to spill down her grimy face. She looked at the elusive, mysterious and incredibly odd man before her in a whole new light, seeing a part of herself and her own predicament in him; she decided, with another quivering gasp, that they were the same. If she was to make alliance and befriend anyone in this horror filled place, it would be him. Her heart felt lighter inside her chest, making her feel dizzy and uncertain and terribly glad for the solidity of the wall she sat on; her heart so often felt as if it were a dead weight inside her, long dormant and useless, but now it was skipping and fluttering.

Such a sensation spurred her on to speak the words she would normally have cowered from, far too shy to be so forward in her declarations, but she ached for companionship and someone to simply nod and understand when she burst into ridiculous tears.

"We both know hardship, then. I am, too, tangled within this web of cruelty and slavery, with no family or other options to allow me to escape this dratted place- I owe the clan, which rather forces me to stay, but I thought I was alone in this helplessness...you must understand how wondrous it feels to know that there is someone to understand you?" she blurted the words, as if lingering on them would make the ordeal so much worse. But Erik was not focusing on her desperation- his attention was turned fully to the fact that she owed the clan.

"You owe this gypsy clan? How could you ever owe them if they keep you here by force?" Erik invited her to explain, curious to hear if her version of events matched the other accounts he had heard from Pali, and his own assumptions made from hearing this. She seemed uneasy and reluctant to reveal such things, her eyes lowered as she began to softly stroke the rough stone beneath her, but still she spoke.

"They...this will sound so very odd, so please do not worry if you do not understand. They found me and brought me here- supposedly they _saved_ me from some dreadful thing, though I am sure that the damsel in not usually saved only to be enslaved by the hero." Christine said bitterly, suddenly bringing a loose piece of the stonework crashing against the bulk of the wall. "The truth is that I am ignorant and dumb to everything in my own life- I do not know why, but I have no memories. Nothing at all, save distant recollections of my early childhood and- and my father, dying. They found me, supposedly, in some cheap bar drenched in blood and suffering a serious head wound. They took me and saved my life, they claim- I don't know how I came to be in such a place, I don't know why I was there at all. And the dreadful hopelessness of my situation culminates in the fact that now I cling to you and beg you to answer my questions with words that mirror my own, for the only person I recall meeting and not hating now is you. The rest gawp and use me for whatever they desire, as if I have no will or ability of my own- and thus, the fact is that you are the only vaguely civilised man, aside from my father, that I have ever met! Ha!"

She cut off her rant abruptly to fiercely wipe tears from where they had spilled out of her wide, childlike eyes that seemed to beg him not to turn her away, imploring that he might be a friend and someone to rely upon in this strange world she was trapped in. Erik had to pin his arms to his sides in order to remain composed, restraining himself from simply grabbing her and pulling her into a fierce embrace as he promised that she would never have to feel so alone and abandoned again. It was killing him, slowly yet surely as he was forced to stand and watch her so alone and lost and with him so able to tell her the truth and end her suffering- but he couldn't do that. Erik felt sweat drip disgustingly down his spine and his words went to mush, unable now to form a coherent sentence that would offer even a shred of comfort in reply to such an outburst. He stood up quickly from the wall and began to pace at a ferocious rate, unable to look into her eyes.

"I- I assume they will want us to sing together tonight, then." He blurted in a strangled voice, refusing to look as her face fell and she wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "We will need to- to think of what we should sing."

"Yes." She agreed in an emotionless voice, not daring to admit through her tone how crushed she felt by his inability to respond- how truly _stupid_ she felt. She barely knew this man, and yet she had already poured out every problem facing her and had expected him to respond with all the right words, declaring unfailingly friendship at the same time.

"What songs do you know, Christine? I suppose that you can sight read?"

"I can." She replied in that same cold, unfeeling voice, not able to force her gaze upwards to look at him.

"Well, then, I have plenty of sheet music that we can sift through and decide from." He smiled gently at her, trying to coax her back into her previous calm state, and when she looked up the iciness did seem to have melted in her eyes. "Perhaps you will even already know some of the songs. Come on."

Erik walked beside her on their silent journey to his tent, very much aware of her presence beside him, as if she were giving of some strange aura that only he could detect. He was also very aware that his hand was barely a centimetre from her own- if he had dared, he could have reached for hers and held it.

His mind was buzzing with possibility as they made their way through the tent maze, knowing that when he did present his vast musical collection to her there would be pieces from Hannibal, Il Muto and more hidden amongst the endless sheets. He was hoping that if she came across them, she would remember them, and then those singing pieces he had taught her or that she had sung onstage she might start to recall some details from her past and hopefully end this lie crafting sooner rather than later. Surely, he comforted himself, she must recall something of those bittersweet days when he had been a tutor and guardian, teaching her to sing those operatic gems so that she became the mistress of the music, her voice commanding everything else and taking on some ethereal quality that had caused her audiences to gape in delighted wonder.

As they reached the colourful tent, Erik could barely hold back the excited laughter, busting into the lopsided mess and grabbing folder after folder of music before spreading them out all over the floor, as if they were some brilliant cloth. Christine knelt in the middle of them, her eyes wide with astonishment as she took in just how vast his collection was, joy starting to form a smile of her face as her fingertips touched the sheet music, just as she had done when she was a little girl playing at her father's feet. Erik stood back and watched her gaze in awe, glad that she was happier now even if nothing else came from this.

"There are so many pieces, so many to choose from!" she laughed, as excited as a child on Christmas morning, and Erik felt an honest grin creep onto his face. "I do recognise some of them, from when I was a child and my father taught me to sing- Mozart, Handel...but what are these?"

Erik watched with bated breath as Christine's eyes caught sight of the oddly scripted scores for Don Juan Triumphant, the copies that had not been burnt in the orchestra pit when the chandelier had imploded with the stage and set it on fire, no doubt. He watched, mystified, as she picked up the yellowed paper and as her eyes hungrily followed the lines of melody, drinking it in with an enthralled gasp of wonder as she realised what the music entailed. "Why this is...this music, it is so very beautiful!"

Erik heard as she found a particular phrase she liked and hummed it under her breath, his heart sinking as he realised what piece of music it was and seeing that she did not leap up with sudden recollections or seem to be affected in any way other than being appreciative of the sound. The haunting melody made him shiver with the memory, yet she did not seem at all affected, and the smile on his face as she passed the music onto him was forced.

"The Point of No Return?" she asked in a delighted voice, already sifting through the music in search of other wonderful pieces. "Who composed it, do you know? I couldn't find a name, and yet it must be the work of one of the major composers, surely..."

Erik looked down at the yellowed paper and traced the notes written in his own hand, remembering how angry he had been that horrible night, how murderous his intentions had been as he had joined her onstage- until it had all faded away in duet with the very woman sat near him now, who had that night proclaimed undying love for him and now could not remember him at all. Perhaps, just like in his composition, the bridge to that time and to Christine's memories was well and truly burnt. It was hardly an uplifting prospect.

"I composed it, Christine." He coughed lightly, not wanting to seem bigheaded but then wishing that he had been a little more open as she gave him such a look of awe that it seemed she was that little girl again, sad wide eyed and enthralled as she listened to her beloved Angel of Music in the draughty chapel, the candles flickering in the darkness.

"You composed this?" she repeated, reaching for the composition again and gazing down upon the notes with fascination. "That is amazing. Truly amazing- you are so skilled."

"Thank you." Erik replied softly, smiling at the way she continued to search through the piles of sheet music like a child in a toy shop, delighting in each thing she found and seeing each individual page of music as brilliant and exciting. She looked oddly stunning, too- her long curls wild, the clothes she wore bright and contrasting against the expanse of black and white notation. So lost in the strange joy of seeing her like this, a question that had been plaguing him slipped out before he could stop it. "Christine, how were you chosen to be a singing act in this clan? Had someone heard of your father perhaps...?"

Christine looked up from the music, taken off guard by such a strange question. It almost seemed a personal query, as if wrong to be asked by a total stranger, and yet here she was alone in a tent, rolling on the floor giggling with delight surrounded by his music as he watched her, the very same total stranger who now asked the question. It was a stark reminder that she barely knew this man, even though she felt oddly at ease around him in this moment, as if he were not a total stranger.

"I already told you that I know none of the details or reasons behind why I was injured in a bar, or how I seem to have lost every memory." She began to speak uneasily, trying to think at the same time as explaining all she could to him. "The clan took me in, bathed my wounds and cared for me, and then once we were touring and I was better the leaders decided that I should sing. They gave no explanation, and I was terrified- I didn't even know if I could sing, as all I knew of my musical ability was my father trying to teach me at five years old. But they put me in a tent with a gypsy who could read music, playing a piano they must have stolen from somewhere, and he told me to sing any song I knew. I did that, and later he asked me if I could read music- I could, so from there we began to perform full songs with accompaniment. The leaders never gave a reason for making me sing, but it turned out that I could sing and they were happy with that, so they made me keep singing. That is how it has been for this last year spent touring with the clan. That is how it will always be."

Erik was silent as he absorbed the information, a little saddened by her resigned tone but not able to dwell on that in light of this new information. It was still very odd, as if something wasn't quite right- she and Pali had told the same tale, of Christine being taken from a bar, injured, and having no memories. There had been no mention of thugs, kidnap, being held hostage...and how did the gypsy leaders seem to know so much about her that they knew to place her as a singer? Why had the gypsies decided to "save her" anyway? Or perhaps-

"Erik? We still need to choose our songs- it's getting late."

Erik looked up, startled out of his thoughts. It was true that it was getting late- he could see the shadows and the fiery orange ball that was the setting sun through a gap in the sacking that made up the sagging tent. Erik was ever an optimist where Christine Daae's capabilities were concerned, memories or no memories, but even he had to accept that it would be impossible even for her to learn a song in less than an hour, to any worthy level of success anyway. He peered around him again at the endless spread of music, wishing he had been a little less impulsive and laid it out in an orderly manner, but she had been so happy to sit amongst all those score sheets...

"Christine-" he began to say, the stress of the moment audible in his voice as he got onto his knees and started to frantically leaf through the endless sheets of thin paper.

But the girl had already found yet another piece of music that she liked, excitedly grabbing the paper and waving it about gleefully with a smile that, despite his anxiety, made Erik feel as if he were melting. He tried to work out what music it was, so that he might get to work straight away or gently put her off the idea, but the way she held it meant that he could not see it- he motioned with one hand for her to continue, not sure if he would be able to speak calmly when she was smiling at him like that.

"Erik, we must perform this piece if nothing else- it's so beautiful and I know it so well, all you need do is play the accompaniment!" she sounded happy, euphoric even, and Erik reached for the music with a laugh that could not be held back. As his fingers made contact with the better quality paper, feeling the weight of several sheets of quality print music, his eyes finally could see the notes and he didn't even need to read the title to know what piece of music she had so happily seized and claimed to know and love. It was enough to make his blood run cold and his heart thump faster and faster with the desperate hope- the song was her debut song, the first operatic solo she had ever performed, from the opera Hannibal. "If we perform this as our main song, then we can stumble through a few other famous pieces by Mozart and Handel- no one will know if I make a few mistakes, I hope. I also thought to try an old Swedish folk tale that is sung to the same tune every verse- you will pick that up with no trouble, I'm sure."

But Erik felt too numb with adrenaline to continue the meaningless chatter. She knew the song- how could it be that she knew it? Was it possible that parts, fragments of no significance, from her memories could be coming back already, just because he was near her again?! The tumult of emotion grew inside Erik, threatening to bubble over like a cooking pot on the fire, and Christine must have noticed that something was the matter as she broke off from whatever she was saying and looked at him quizzically.

"Christine, how do you know this song?" Erik asked in a dull voice, hastily going to add further explanation for the query upon seeing her frown at him. His voice sounded uncaring and lifeless, but only to hide the hysteria that he knew would soon take hold of him if he was not careful. "Only this song is from an opera...sung to a full orchestra, by a classically trained soprano, during one of the acts of the opera Hannibal. It is an odd and difficult choice for a childhood singing lesson, so I wondered where you might have heard it and learned it?"

Christine could hear the urgency in his tone, despite his attempts to mask it, and her stomach immediately knotted up and her smile disappeared from her face as she continued to stare at him in confusion. She had not thought it before; lost in the moment, happily gripping onto the music she knew and loved so well...she knew the song, of that she was most certain. The lyrics filled her mind even now, as if testing herself, and the tune danced on the tip of her tongue without thought. But Erik, Erik with all his logical kindness and musical sense, had raised a very good point that contradicted her firm grasp of this supposedly difficult operatic aria and her previously good mood was soon disintegrating, replaced by a raw sense of fear.

How _did_ she know this song? Her father had been a little mad at times, but she knew he would never have attempted to teach a five year old such a song- the notes were shockingly high and the various trills and tremolos existed only in the capabilities of a classically trained opera singer, which she was most definitely not. The fact that she did not know so much, even about trivial matters such as how she had learned a song, made Christine feel terribly insecure and she wanted nothing more in that moment than to curl up in the corner of the tent and cry until she felt less vulnerable. Erik's odd yellow eyes were staring at her, as if the world rested upon her answer, but she had no answer to give.

"In honesty, I am not at all sure as to how I know this song." She replied in a voice that trembled far less than she was at that moment. Erik fought to regain composure and to not let the disappointment show on his face, not wanting to upset her, reminding himself that if such a trivial thing had returned to her, perhaps matters of greater significance would also return in time. "Why? Does it matter, then?"

Having persuaded himself that her memories would return in time, as long as he remained in her presence, Erik was feeling unusually optimistic. He reached out for the wads of music that they would need for tonight before also taking his violin, grinning a little madly as he checked that the pristine instrument was still nestled snugly in its case for no reason other than this mad sense of optimism and hope.

"No, Christine, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all."

Later that evening, when the sky became an expanse of dark blue velvet adorned with twinkling diamonds, and as the moon cast her gentle beams onto the earth below, the repertoire of several classics, a few Swedish lullabies and folk tales and one challenging yet beautifully executed operatic aria filled the camp with music, luring in the endless crowds and presenting to them a quality of a show they had not expected.

Under the stars, out in the cool night air, an odd looking man serenading the moon with his hauntingly perfect music was accompanied by the seraphic voice of a young woman who must be an angel on Earth for the quality of her voice. They were lost in their duet, gone with the pulse and the flow of the music, and lost within each other as they crafted the music of myths and legends right there before the eyes and ears of the amazed spectators.

Some of the male visitors, admittedly, would have preferred a strip tease or at least something a little less dignified and sophisticated, but even the most leering of visitors found themselves enthralled by the music, paying large sums of money at the end of the songs.

Pali and Nadir, having managed to escape the arduous tasks of money grabbing or standing on top of buckets or barrels to call out the acts, hid behind the nearest tent and watched as Erik and Christine sang beautifully together, creating ethereal music and even smiling shyly at one another like two young lovers, the slight pink blush just visible on her face in the pearly moonlight. Pali, noticing this and feeling the need to make his triumph in bringing this plan together known, nudged Nadir and gave his a beaming grin, teeth glinting a little in the moonlight. Nadir rolled his eyes and prepared for the onslaught of boastful bragging he knew was soon to follow, not actually minding all that much due to the successes Erik was now enjoying.

"See? I told you this plan would work, you pessimist!" Pali teased in a whisper, his eyebrows wiggling mischievously. He looked like an imp, a cheeky fairy creature, and Nadir fought the urge to bat him aside and stand well away from him.

"Me, a pessimist?" he hissed back, sounding far more annoyed than he actually felt. "You can hardly claim all the glory here, anyway- one performance means nothing."

"Oh, hush, you gloomy Persian and look at them! How could you need more proof that things will work out as smoothly as I had planned?" Pali sounded pleased with himself, exaggerating his input and clearly enjoying the feeling of success. His eyes were sparkling like a child, and Nadir found that he couldn't take that from him, even if he wanted to. "She is utterly enthralled by him- see how she smiles at him!"

"Yes, and _he_ is using her memory loss to his advantage, playing games and weaving lies." Nadir argued, but it was half hearted. "Yes, Pali, I see that. She does look very happy. And he, the fool, looks as if he could keel over from bliss any moment now. Lovely music...oh you complete oaf, Erik, why are you worrying about this at all. She clearly is fascinated by him...I just hope he continues with such success."

The night rolled on, the duet surging and soaring right up into the wispy clouds to greet the moon itself. The heavenly music filled the night air entirely, and continued to do so long after the last visitor left the camp.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: ****I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.**

**Author Note:**** Heehee, I do love a bit of E/C fluff! Well I do hope you're in the mood for more happy relationship development as this chapter is the cutesy-Erik-and-Christine-become-friends chapter :-D **

**Thank you so much to the usual suspects, my lovely reviewers; TMara, Filhound, ListenToTheRainS2 and MarilynKC. As always, it's brilliant to hear what your thoughts are on the story and all reviews are very much appreciated- particularly your predictions for what could be the cause of this strange situation :-) So again, thank you!**

**Are you ready for some fluffy trust building? 'Cos it's time for chapter seven!**

**P.S - This chapter was originally two, which explains its length. I didn't want to have more than one chapter based solely on trust building as it might have become a little tedious. :-) **

**Seven- Trust**

It was a bright, clear and pleasantly warm morning, with the rolling green landscape spread out either side of the dusty track and the immense canvas of blue sky littered with wisps of cloud smiling happily down at the rumbling, lumbering procession as it jolted and juddered along. The sun was still low in the sky, the watery rays only just kissing the earth but warming everything it touched, including the faces of the riders as they eased their horses along, content with the lethargic pace for now as they savoured the sunshine.

Erik, far too tired to whinge about the bright sunlight or even to complain bitterly that they were moving at barely a walking pace, stifled another huge yawn and shifted the reigns from one hand to the other and fought against his drooping eyelids. The horse, sensing his fatigue and weakness in the saddle, weaved its head uncertainly and skittered a little, making Erik sit suddenly bolt upright as he feared that he might actually fall asleep in the saddle and fall to the ground as the procession continued its lumbering crawl without him. He doubted that anyone would notice that one horse seemed to have lost a rider somewhere along the way- many of the gypsies would disappear and turn up later at the camp with no real reason or explanation as to why- and the irritable part of Erik's mind threw up the paranoid idea that Nadir would simply laugh and continue the ride, leaving him sprawled asleep in the dust to be trampled by whatever passed him by.

Nadir, who was not tired as his companion was and was at total ease on his relaxed mount, grinned to himself as he saw Erik's thin shoulders begin to sag again. He decided, with a slightly wicked chuckle, that he might as well make the most of Erik's weariness and complete lack of energy, as today his friend's usual fearsome wrath would not surface- even if he had not been half asleep, he would still be mellow and easy, warmed by music and the company of Christine that he had experienced last night. Nadir was resourceful, and he fully intended to utilise this lapse in violent temper as far as he could.

"Come, come Erik. Stay awake or you'll fall of your horse." He teased wickedly, earning an exasperated look and a weak dig from one of Erik's sharply pointed elbows. "But I suppose it can't be helped- this is what you get if you stay awake all night, singing with Christine. I do believe that she is sleeping now in one of the caravans...perhaps you should join her?"

A leafy branch came sailing through the air and smacked Nadir right in the face, but Erik was laughing as he made this attack and soon Nadir was too, smiling in a slightly smug manner as he watched Erik sigh and turn his head up to the soft blue of the sky, his eyes lingering on the cotton wool clouds. It warmed Nadir's heart, as sentimental and patronising as it sounded, to see Erik so happy and mellow after so long spent under the clinging cloud of depression and anxiety. The last year of searching and constant worrying as to whether Christine was alive or dead had taken its toll on Erik, and Nadir hadn't realised how badly until they had joined the clan- Pali was a skinny and scrawny little man, but when Erik stood beside him it made him look normal and Erik like a living skeleton. Nadir had also noticed, from stealing concerned glances whenever Erik took his mask off to allow fresh air to reach the warped flesh, that the skin underneath that harsh barrier was red and inflamed as it had never been before. Whether it was from the dirty conditions, or stress or something else altogether Nadir did not know, but he knew it was hurting Erik to wear his mask now and such a thing was making Nadir feel dreadful whenever he looked at his companion.

So to see Erik this calm and content was a sight to savour. It wasn't just Erik who had benefitted though- Nadir had noticed that during the performance last night, the smile on Christine's face had grown wider and brighter with each song they played, gazing at Erik with a kind of awe that had shocked even Pali, surprised at how quickly the girl was trusting Erik and looking up to him as some kind of guardian amongst the gypsies. Of course, seeing such a successful development had made Nadir terribly irritated too, smacking Pali hard about the head and berating him for planting the idea to lie in Erik's vulnerable head. Pali's idea to take advantage of the girl's memory loss and to pretend to be the perfect lover was calculated genius, and had Nadir been a supporter of foul play- or had not been a spectator to how all Erik's own tricks had come round to haunt him- he might have been in awe of the gangly gypsy. But as it stood, Nadir prided himself on having enough of a conscience for himself and for Erik, and with this he fully intended to advertise the honest plan wholeheartedly.

Pali had commented last night, when faced with Nadir's annoyed wrath and having just been belted about the head, that surely the only really honest way of going about this would be to simply tell Christine Daae the whole grisly truth and not hide anything from her- of course this had not made Nadir feel in any way disheartened, as to do such a thing would be the work of a madman, or perhaps a warped sadist. An emotionally unstable, not to mention terrified, young woman such as Christine Daae would be utterly shattered to learn such a history in one violent attack. No- for now, what they were doing was the best thing, and Nadir was so sure of this that he sat happily back in the saddle and returned to watching Erik with amused eyes, snickering when the low hanging leaves trailed in his friends face and startled him out of his half-conscious droop.

The huge, rumbling procession stuck resolutely to the dirt track and then to the dusty roads, horses lumbering and plodding with no real haste, the wooden wheels of the carts and caravans creaking and complaining as they jolted and bumped over stones and dips in the uneven terrain. Erik, perhaps turned half mad with the exhaustion and desperate to wake himself up, suddenly decided that he could not stand this tortuously slow pace any longer- with a low snarl of irritation, he urged his horse onwards and up onto the grassy banks, making for a wider open space of damp, muddy greenery. Once there he lowered himself close to the horses neck and spurred his mount onwards, into a fast paced gallop across the greenery, violently throwing up great clods of mud as the horses hooves pounded against the saturated ground. Nadir, startled by this sudden explosion of energy and valiantly trying to follow his mad friend, was completely covered by the mud and grass but harshly told himself to ignore it.

He contented himself with following at a slower pace, watching as Erik- who had always loved his horse, in a manner that seemed a little odd for such an angry man- galloped into the breeze, letting it take all his worries and thoughts away and into the open air, shouting in jubilation as the horse pranced and jumped for no reason save its own pleasure. Nadir watched this spectacle with a paternal smile, saying nothing when Erik returned to the lethargic procession with red cheeks and sparkling eyes, happy with the silence and the rhythmic sound of hooves on firm ground beneath them.

They were heading for the South of France this time, the temperature change so gradual that they did not notice it as the day and journey progressed. Nadir was excitably anticipating the humid air and perhaps sunshine that actually made the Earth hot and sleepy, hoping that such weather would remind him of home and satisfy that slight ache he always felt when recalling the hot, vibrant days of his youth that seemed to belong in another world, far away from the drizzly, colourless grey that seemed to form most of France.

They passed through several small villages, the people coming out onto the cobbled streets to wave and call out to the passing gypsies, and to Nadir's complete surprise Erik found smiles for those who talked to him, even calling a greeting out to a few who said hello or waved with particular energy. It was a sight that made absolutely no sense to Nadir and yet filled him with such a sense of relief and joy he could not help but comment on it once they were well away from the little stone villages and their smiling inhabitants, even though he knew that Erik would not like to talk about it and would accuse the Persian of being purposefully annoying and patronising.

"I saw you amongst those people, and I saw a different Erik." He said in a soft, low voice, looking up at the sky and seeing that it was now streaked with the orange sunset, looking mythical and magical and like something that should exist on a canvas, the work of some brilliant artist not just the daily occurrences of the natural world. Erik looked up, instantly suspicious, but not annoyed or threatening. "It was very pleasing to see."

"I'm not sure I understand what you are mumbling about, Khan." Erik replied wearily, sensing that Nadir was about to say something utterly stupid yet well meaning. It was something he always claimed to loathe about the Persian, yet he knew he would miss it if Nadir were gone.

"You were so natural and friendly and calm with those villagers." Nadir continued gently. "You know that such a thing is astounding, considering that you lived alone, in a cellar, isolated from humanity and hating all humanity for well over ten years at a time!"

"I was not alone- I saw you and tutored Christine." Erik muttered, neglecting to mention that the Persian had met with Erik more often than not due to his curious investigations ending with him being trapped in one of Erik's many defences against such intrusions needing rescue from Erik himself, or that the tutoring had occurred through the wall with Christine believing him to be an Angel.

"That is hardly humanity- and anyway, there is no need to look so defensive, Erik, you oaf! I meant it as a compliment, you know; I'm happy that you're happy."

Erik pulled a face and did not reply. When at last they reached the chosen site for the gypsy camp, and began to unload the various carts and string up the lopsided tents, Nadir saw that there was a troubled look in Erik's eyes- a thoughtful look that normally appeared when he was thinking too much about something and blowing it completely out of proportion. He went to say something, but then realised that it was probably his comment from earlier that had provoked such a strange behaviour. As soon as the camp was set up, Nadir saw Erik go into the tent- presumably to sleep- and once he was gone the Persian went to hunt down Pali, in desperate need of company to make him laugh and take away the images of Erik's troubled eyes from his mind.

_**The next morning...**_

"Errrriiiiiiiik!"

A shrill, annoyingly enthusiastic and exceedingly irritating voice pierced the silence of the tent and buzzed painfully in Erik's ear, shattering the warm state of sleep in which he had been happily oblivious. The pain that shot down his right ear, entirely unexpectedly, was so great that in that dazed moment he was convinced that the noise could well have caused his eardrum to explode. With a snarl, he batted at the air, trying to rid himself of this pest making such a horrid shriek. But this did not work- the tortuous noise echoed on and on and was closely followed by drops of shockingly cold water being dripped onto his forehead.

Startled, surprised and beyond angry Erik shot up from the blanket he had been laying on and grabbed Pali- clearly the only person mad enough to be such a pest- by the neck and squeezed hard, his irritation heightened by the ache in his muscles that could only be the result of a day's riding and a nights tossing and turning. His muscles screamed in pain and Pali gagged a little, looking decidedly worried as his gesticulations became frantic and panicked, forcing Erik to relent and let go off his scrawny neck with an annoyed hiss.

"I take it you are not a morning person, then?" Pali immediately said, his voice annoyingly cheerful- the panicked expression and gestures had clearly been staged to make Erik let go of him. Erik massaged his temples wearily, not knowing what time it could be but certain that it was far too early for social visits or for such energy.

"Do shut up, you irritating little rat, and get on with whatever trivial thing you wanted to say." Erik hissed, wincing as his joints creaked. "And if there is no good reason for such madness, I'll-"

"Christine asked me to fetch you."

Suddenly it was as if the rude awakening or the pain in his muscles had never occurred- Erik was up and off the floor, dashing around and frantically pulling at his crumpled clothes, trying desperately to find clean garments in the mess of bags and blankets all over the floor. Pali was now massaging his neck with exaggerated reactions, grimacing and groaning with some terrible pain until Erik had no choice but to stop panicking about where his possessions were in favour of throwing something at the gypsy's head.

"Ouch." The skinny, wild haired man complained, flopping down onto the scattered cushions with a sigh of annoyance. "You would think, really, that being called upon by your darling soprano might just cheer you up and make you a little more pleasant towards the dear friend who bothered to relay such a message to you, you old grouch."

"I have cheered up." Erik replied easily, ignoring the face that Pali pulled and straightening his dark jacket , immaculate and forbidding as always. He always had been that way, dressing formally even in the cellars and catacombs of the opera house, not caring that the walls oozed a mouldy, musty stench as long as his clothes were formal, presentable and as perfect as he could make them. It was not a matter of vanity, more a deluded attempt at self preservation that had never truly worked, and yet he still religiously stuck to his age old routine even now. Pali muttered something unintelligible, which made Erik whirl round and fix him with a firm stare. "Pali, why did Christine ask for me?"

Pali heard the excitement and suppressed joy in his friend's voice and hid a smile, happy with the knowledge that Erik was well and truly infatuated with this odd, lonely woman who apparently had much more of a past with him than anyone could have guessed. The attraction was, in some ways, quite obvious; Christine Daae was a beautiful young woman with amazing talent, and Pali supposed that she was quite a pleasant person. But Pali knew, just from the look in Erik's eyes, that his love for the girl went beyond a pretty face and a nice personality- he was captivated, obsessed, utterly enthralled by her and Pali, in honesty, could not see why.

"I don't truthfully know why, Erik." He declared airily. "She approached me when I came back into the camp this morning- I went into the town to buy a few items- and when she came up to me she asked me where you were, how you were. I told her that you had been very tired, and had retired to bed very early last night, and she requested that when you woke I might ask you to meet her by the trees towards the back of the camp, by that hill...she seemed very chirpy, Erik- she actually smiled at me!"

"And she gave no reasons to see me?" Erik frowned.

"None whatsoever- but it can hardly be a bad thing, can it?"

Erik did not bother to reply to the overzealous Pali, nodding a thank you and goodbye before ducking out of the warm, stuffy interior of the sagging tent and into the trees and the biting breeze. It was another bright day, the air colder and crisp too, stinging a little as the breeze kissed Erik's warm and flushed face, shocking him awake and into a sense of anticipation as he began to make the journey to the place Pali had described, where Christine was supposedly waiting for him. The weak sunlight was watery and pathetic as ever, still blinding as Erik looked up the sky unaware that the sun was still so low. He cursed it with venom, wanting nothing more than the comfort of darkness and a serene moon, with its pearly glimmer and sympathetic gaze.

Muttering to himself and still vexed by Pali's continually stupid behaviour, Erik found the hill that the gypsy must have been ranting about and began to walk up the steep slope, the grass still dewy and damp and making his feet slip a little. Cursing, he made the short walk and arrived at the crest of the muddy slope, wincing and bringing his arm up to shield his delicate eyes from the merciless sting of that pathetic sunlight. As soon as his eyes, narrowed in futile hope of reducing the discomfort brought by the wretched sun, saw Christine waiting at the bottom of the hill the curses ceased to form on his lips, and the bad thoughts seemed to blow away into the breeze that whipped about him.

Seeing Christine made Erik change his opinion of the harsh sunlight immediately; those weak, pathetic rays that caused him such aggravation brought everything about her to life- her moonbeam white skin seemed radiant and glowing, the tumbling brown curls suddenly shimmering with a thousand different shades and when she turned round to see him standing there her eyes sparkled like diamonds. Erik prided himself on being someone who could value what lay beneath the exterior of a person, beautiful or hideous, but even his firm resolve was crumbling just from looking at her like this. He stood in slack-jawed astonishment, drinking in the look of pure delight that filled her face as she saw that it was him stood there, trying to fix the image of that gorgeous smile permanently in his mind so that it would be the only thing he saw when he closed his eyes.

She waved at him, laughing at herself for being such a fool, beckoning him towards her with all the carefree teasing of a young woman toying with a young man whom she admired- Erik felt his own rare smile creep onto his face and he began to walk swiftly down the hill, making a conscious effort not to trip and fall in the mud, his hands trembling- mentally, he cursed himself for being such a blathering idiot.

"Christine. Good morning." He sounded nervous and hesitant, even to his own ears, and Christine bit her lip to disguise a laugh. Erik didn't know why she was so happy this morning, or so happy to be around him- last night, although she had seemed very comfortable around him as they sang together, she hadn't been this happy. "Pali came screaming into my tent earlier, telling me that you had asked to see me-"

The happy look on Christine's face faded alarmingly quickly, instead becoming a look of embarrassment and apologetic horror, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Oh my goodness, I'm- I'm so sorry!" she gasped, going bright pink. "I didn't mean for him to wake you like that! I only asked that he-"

Erik held up his hands to try and stop her before she knelt and grovelled at his feet, a little shocked by how horrified she was to learn that her actions might have caused his discomfort- he had never experienced such a sense of care before, with Nadir too busy lecturing him and Pali too busy being stupid. Although he was amused by how aghast she seemed, he also felt a little unnerved by it.

"It's fine, Christine, honestly- I know Pali very well. He would have done such a thing anyway, request or no request." Erik offered with a smile, and Christine removed her hands from her face with a sheepish expression. "Now, what was it that you wanted with me?"

Christine coloured again, a pretty shade of pink, and she seemed a little embarrassed.

"I...I only wanted to ask you, seeing as we don't have anything that needs to be done until the evening...I presume you are free in the daytime- I mean...I..." she trailed off, sounding nervous. "I only wondered if you...if you would perhaps like to- to spend the day with me." With the words finally spoken, she seemed to find something in her speech that was demanding or embarrassing or foolish, suddenly starting to speak again at a mile a minute, stumbling and tripping over the words in her haste. "You don't have to, of course! I- I don't even really know what I am planning on doing, I only though it might be good to get to know each other as we will be singing together- but there is no need! You probably have other things-"

"Christine." Erik cut her off with a soft smile, and she peeked at him through a curtain of thick brown hair. "It would be a pleasure to spend the day with you. I would like that, very much"

The smile that filled Christine Daae's face that morning did not leave her in the weeks that followed the conversation in the bright, dewy morning- as the time passed and spring bloomed into its full, flowering glory, the light and the warmth of the days seemed to reflect her mood. She seemed brighter and happier every day, going around the gypsy camp with a skip in her step and a huge smile on her face, happy to talk and laugh with all those she had previously avoided and tried to ignore.

The girl who had, for a whole year spent with the clan, been a desperately lonely recluse was blooming- a rose amongst the coarse brambles and thorns. But flowers do not bloom on their own, as people do not change of their own accord, and as Nadir stood listening to Christine singing one warm evening, accompanied by a mournful violin, the reason for her change in emotion and attitude was clear; Erik.

To the delight of the cautious Persian and the hyperactive gypsy, Erik and Christine had spent every day since their early morning hillside conversation in each other's company- it had started with extended rehearsals that might occupy a few idle hours, or perhaps a brief walk in the surrounding countryside or a trip to the nearest village. When Christine made some passing comment about a particular little stream or dense expanse of forest, the next day Erik would find some excuse to take her to these places. When he discovered that Christine could not ride a horse, it suddenly became essential that Erik should take her out into the open air for days on end, encouraging and teaching her until she could gallop freely into the wind, laughing as the exhilaration coursed through her veins and made her feel as free as the birds that soared above her the soft blue of the skies.

She and Erik could disappear on horseback or on foot for hours and hours, escaping the camp to explore the awaiting world around them, returning with only minutes to spare before they were supposed to sing for the paying crowds, making Pali jittery with nerves and Nadir suspicious with worry. Neither the Persian nor the gypsy would ever admit that they were curious for details and a little more than displeased that Erik would never reveal anything when they bombarded him with hundreds of questions, one after the other in a rapid onslaught of curiosity, hoping that he might reveal even the most trivial detail to appease them enough to make them be quiet. Whenever they pleaded with him for information, even just to ask if he had enjoyed the time spent with Christine, Erik would merely smile mysteriously and look away.

"You know, Nadir, I bet that he and Christine have become nicely reacquainted in these hours spent together- he's quite the Don Juan, seducing her so easily." Pali murmured to Nadir on one occasion, hoping to provoke a response from Erik- his mood had been increasingly mellow with so much time spent with Christine. Erik merely sent a playful wallop in Pali's direction and no information was revealed.

Over the weeks Pali grew less interested and soon the fact that Erik withheld such details from him no longer affected him, but Nadir was still curious. Part of the desire to know the facts was down to pure curiosity, that was true, but Nadir also felt a little hurt- they had planned this together, as a trio, and even if Erik did not want to share his intimate thoughts with Pali he had hoped that he might still confide in his most loyal companion. There was, of course, also the concern that Erik's lies might be spiralling out of control and Nadir, not knowing what had been said between them, could not reassure himself that this was not the case. Teaching the girl to horse ride and talking about music was one thing, but with each day that the friendship between Erik and Christine deepened the ability to go back and be honest was taken further and further out of reach. Now, if Christine did recall her past with no prompt utterly randomly, she would be faced with the fact that Erik had befriended her and not told her the truth- such a thing suggested that he was using her memory loss to his advantage, which (Nadir gritted his teeth) he was.

Erik was aware that Nadir was burning with curiosity, and yet was too scared to pester him for details, and he found such a thing hilarious.

On one particularly sunny day, when he and Christine had decided to go for a leisurely walk as the air was far too hot and sticky for riding, he laughed aloud as he recalled the Persian's expression from last night's carefully worded question bombardment, and this had caused Christine to ask him how he knew Nadir, and Pali. As they walked together in the gentle warmth, Erik therefore entertained her with the funnier tales of his time spent with Nadir or Pali, altering a few details such as the location and the reason such events had occurred, but keeping all other details the same. It was very comforting to be able to tell something to Christine that held some truth in and to receive laughter and smiles in return.

There was still a definite awkwardness between them, as Erik had suspected there would be even on that first day when she had dared to make the shy request- Christine was very aware of the fact that their sudden friendship, and her sudden dependence on Erik, was very odd but she enjoyed the company of someone else who was an outsider to the point that awkwardness did not matter. She was still a little uneasy as to why she felt as if she had known Erik for far longer than a few weeks, and often found herself questioning if she should be so happy and comfortable to spend such long periods of time alone with this one stranger. Erik, too, was often far from relaxed in these days spent in the company of Christine; it was a constant battle to find the medium between acting too comfortable and intimate with her and acting too cold and withdrawn from his efforts to appear a stranger and on more than one occasion Christine had looked perplexed and eve n slightly offended as he tried desperately to play his role faultlessly.

But, despite the tension and the unease, they got on well and Erik was starting to succumb to the sweet sense of optimism. On that sunny day, as they walked and talked and she laughed at his countless tales, she found a large tree and flopped down in the cool shade beneath the leafy canopy, her eyes and ears still intently fixed on him as he finished his story.

"...and so by the time Nadir finally managed to decide which carriage the thief had taken, it was already thundering down the streets and we had no hope of chasing it. Nadir fell and broke his leg and I had to argue with the shop owners, in Italian, for twenty minutes just to convince them that I was not the man responsible for smashing their entire weeks produce." Erik finished the story with an airy wave of his hand, making Christine laugh. "Nadir has always been useless in the spur of the moment- appalling at making split decisions, incapable of being at all cunning or agile. He is utterly useless with his hands, too- he can barely hold my violin properly, let alone attempt to play something that doesn't resemble a dying animal. He has such dainty hands, too...such a waste, for he has the delicacy of an elephant and the ability of a slug."

"A slug?! But they don't even have hands, Erik!" Christine giggled.

"Precisely." Erik grinned in return, holding up his own long fingered , skeletal hands before his face, scrutinising the translucent, ghostly white skin and his calloused fingertips. His whole life was made bearable by these hands- hands that could write, hands that could make music, hands that could build...hands that, for one brief snatch of paradise a year ago, had brushed the face and hair of Christine Daae. They meant such a lot to him, and yet they were far from stunning. "Though my own hands are far from dainty- soon they will have forgotten what a piano feels like. The violin can be so painful on the fingertips after a while..."

Encouraged by the theme of the conversation, Christine looked down at her own hands, small and pale though now cracked and well worked, the nails short and a little dirty, stained with the grime that came from clearing away the charred remains of fires and helping to shift logs, or even from washing and sewing. Had she ever had elegant, soft, clean and dainty hands- ladies hands? She noticed that Erik staring at her, puzzling over her troubled expression, so before he could voice any concern and allow her to dwell on her needless pessimism she moved to sit a little closer to him, taking both of his hands and flipping them so that they lay palm up. She took his left hand in her own and, using the fingers of her right, began to trace lines on his exposed palm.

"I've been with the clan for over a year now- I have picked up on some tricks and truths of the gypsy culture." She intoned in a mysterious voice, peering down at his cool hand and tracing invisible lines.

"Don't tell me you will be so typical as to palm read?" Erik scorned her with a smile, to show that he was teasing and also to hide the erratic beat of his heart that he was sure she must hear, being so close to him. It felt like some form of tortuous bliss, testing his patience and composure to sit and feel her trace her gentle fingers all over his palm, her face so close to his that he could smell the astonishingly pleasant scent of herbs and wood smoke that clung to her clothes and hair.

"Don't be so scathing, Erik! The lines on your palm can reveal a great deal of your future!" Christine scolded him with a wicked grin, finding a line on his ghostly white palm and deciding in that moment that it meant something very important. With an exaggerated cry she prodded his palm and stared into his eyes with mock solemnity. "Oh, dear me, it would seem that your future is a troubled one. There will come a point, in the near future, when you will have to decide between what you desire and what is right- things will never be the same again!"

"You're a fraud." Erik replied smoothly. "If I had paid money for this, I would demand a full refund."

"Indeed, I am a complete fraud and have no idea what i am talking about, as I expect is the same for all the others who do this in the clan." She replied proudly, smiling. "I hope that my reading is utter rubbish, Erik, and that your future is bright. You deserve it more than most, I think."

Funny, Christine thought with a wistful sigh as she allowed Erik to take his hands back, most people would be desperate to know their future, to know what lies waiting in the next chapter of their life as if it were already written for them and I only want to know my past- the one thing we should all know.

It was as if the melancholy thought had formed a grey raincloud that now hung miserably over her, dulling her good mood. For although she had been happier, much happier, as of late, she was still plagued by terrifying nightmares and was still shaken by the horror of them. There was real terror lurking in those sinister dreams, a real terror that she could not justify and it was this that made her wonder if she actually wanted to understand her past- it terrified her to think that she might have encountered such horrific things that still held enough power to make her tremble with fear, and yet she did not know a thing about them.

Erik suddenly pulled her out of her depressed musings by taking hold of her hands, holding them and turning them over in the same way she had taken his, his eyes peering intently down at the limp hand he held in his warm grip. She gave a small gasp, taken by surprise, and his burning eyes stole a quick look into her own before returning to her upturned palm.

"Erik?" she asked, suddenly realising how intimate this gesture was- she hadn't noticed when it was her doing the mock palm reading, but now that it was her having her hand stroked and probed with gentle fingertips she felt a blush creep over her innocent face. "Erik, you can't tell me that now that you want to palm read."

"I'm not palm reading." He said distantly, still examining her hand and making her heart flip over in her chest with the sensation of his fingertips tracing a line on her calloused palm. "I'm going to show you what skilled people may do with the palms- I'm going to tell you about yourself and your past, simply by looking at your hands. I'm not very good at this, as it requires great skill and many years of practice, but let's see..." he paused as he traced her palm again, and Christine found that she was leaning forward slightly, her heart pounding and her lips white with nervous anticipation, as if Erik might suddenly be able to reveal her whole past just from looking at one grubby hand. "Your hands are calloused, and we know that this is because of your work in the clan, but look- they are newly calloused, still sore and not yet acclimatised to the hard work; so, you once had soft hands that were not involved in heavy work. Your nails are strong and healthy- well, it sounds obvious, but you must have good health in general. The fingers are slender and long...suggesting the ability to play a musical instrument, though of course you already know that you can...and here, look, a scar on the heel of your hand- from a childhood fall or game, perhaps? There is no indication of an engagement ring, but-"

"Oh, stop it, you mad fool!" Christine began to laugh, gently taking her hands away, a little chilled that Erik had known somehow that she would be more interested in the past than vague guesses about the future. "Engagement ring?! Why would I have been abandoned and taken by gypsies if I had some sort of lover?"

"Maybe...maybe he was injured too, as you were, and was not able to help you in time." Erik murmured quietly, almost to himself.

"I don't know, it's a complete mystery to me." Christine sighed again, still wistful but happier. "So my hands were once fine and beautiful-"

"Christine, they still are."

As soon as the words were out, Erik knew that they were too much, especially accompanied by his intense, anguished stare. Christine went bright red and shifted uneasily where she sat, as if uncomfortable. Wishing that he could go back a few moments and pull himself together, Erik tried to mend the damage he had caused.

"What I meant is-"

"No, stop. Please." Christine shook her head, her voice firm. "That was terribly rude of me- all I can offer in my defence is that most people are not as kind as you, so I am not used to compliments and kindness. Thank you, Erik."

Most days came and went in the same amiable fashion; outings, conversations, learning and rehearsing various songs and then singing every evening, serenading the moon, the crowds and- though none of them mentioned it- each other. Normally the crowds would linger in the camp until well past midnight, and so the songs would have to last until such times also, but one evening when there were less people than usual Erik and Christine took the chance to sit down for a few minutes beside the flickering tendrils of a small campfire, enjoying the homely scent of wood smoke and basking in the heat, savouring the pleasant sounds of crackling and spitting wood. They were talking about nothing in particular when Christine said something that chilled Erik to the bone.

He had prompted the comment, of course, stupidly. He should have _known._

"You look tired, Christine. Do you find it difficult to sleep at night?"

"No." She replied in a soft voice, the orange flames flickering in her brown eyes, making her look like a fairy creature out of a myth. "I can fall asleep without trouble- but I...oh, it sounds so terribly silly. I always wake myself up crying, in a sweat, panicked...and then I can't get back to sleep."

"Why?"

"Nightmares."

The word alone had sent warning shivers down his spine; cold fingers jabbing him sharply, warning him not to be such a fool and ask the question dancing on the tip of his tongue. But it was as if he could no longer control what he said- he asked the question, knowing full well what reply he would be given after hearing a few details from Pali. What he didn't realise was how terrible it would make him feel to hear it from her personally and see the emotion play out in those eyes he loved so much.

"What are they about?"

"Oh, more nonsense really- silly things that should not affect me so much." She tried to laugh it off, shivering as fear clouded her eyes. "Darkness. Terror. And- this sounds odd- but...as if I am trapped in some sort of cave, encased underground, unable to break free and escape into the light even though I want to. And in the cave, in this underground darkness, there is a voice- a man's voice, though hard to understand and hard to comprehend as it is twisted with rage and fury and insanity. The voice bellows at me, screaming that I can- can never leave. And then...then the voice c-cracks and sh-shatters and starts to sob my name. Then, I wake up." She shook her head sharply, as if trying to shake the images from her mind and trying to stop herself from trembling and stuttering over the words. "I can never tell which bit is the worst, what part makes me so afraid and so upset- the fear and the screaming and the darkness, or that terrible sobbing that fills me with sadness and guilt-! It scares me, Erik! I do not know where such a horrible dream could have come from and yet it never leaves me; every night, without fail, it seizes me with terror and I wake crying and terrified as if I am in that underground prison and the man is really screaming and sobbing beside me."

And what could Erik ever hope to say in response to that? He felt his tongue go dry and prickly and at once he knew with blinding certainty that he could do no more than make sympathetic noises and change the subject of the conversation as quickly as he could, still feeling nauseous as he found the trace of fear left in those wide, pleading eyes. There was no disputing it, no way of pretending that the truth was something else- all she remembered of him (and she didn't know it was him, thank goodness, despite that fact that it was his voice screaming at her) was now forming a dreadful nightmare.

Erik spent a few miserable days in the clutches of depression, trying in vain to think of a way to stop himself from dwelling on this less than savoury fact and also trying to think of how he could stop Christine being so terrified. She was made to do more chores about the camp than usual, due to another girl being too sick to work, so Erik did not even have the distraction of her company to make him feel any less melancholy. He paced and ranted and fell into bouts of gloomy silence, so mad with his own manic deliberation that he resorted to asking Nadir and Pali for advice. Such a request ended badly- he throttled the gangly gypsy as he smirked like a schoolboy and suggested disgustingly inappropriate ways to "cheer up" Christine, and Nadir could only offer insults.

"Ignore Pali and stop pacing about like a child! Stop this hysteria and use your brain, Erik, for goodness sakes! You have all the time in the world and there is no need to be so dreadfully hideous to us both after all we have done for you! Perhaps if you stopped lying to her, you wouldn't feel so terribly guilt all the time."

After that icy comment, Erik had reached the end of his patience. Knowing he was likely to punch one of them if he remained in their company, he stormed out of the camp and into the fresh air, kicking at the grass and grinding any flowers underfoot as he stormed along with a face like thunder. In his bad mood, Erik found himself angrily questioning what he was even doing, why he was even bothering. If one thing was evident from Christine's nightmares, it was that she was never going to recall the Opera Ghost with a blissful smile- if snatches of memories that were far from the full truth had the capacity to terrify her to such an extent, what would fully recalling the past do to her and- Erik let out a low hiss- to their relationship?

Recalling the night of Don Juan- the night that seemed to belong to another life, another world- just made the whole situation seem far too perfect and unrealistic. She had kissed him and proclaimed to love him even though he had tormented her, scared her and was in competition with another man who, by common standards, was the perfect Prince Charming. It was a fact he had refused to dwell on whilst searching for her, knowing that her safety was far more important than who she loved, but now he had found her and in such extreme circumstances, Erik was met with the terrifying question- what did he actually want?

Did he want to restore her memories, to become the Phantom again? She might love him, but she would always remember what he was capable of, what his insanity had led to- there would, no doubt, always be a part of her that would question if he really was a changed man, or what life would have been if she were a Vicomtess on the arm of her rich, gentlemanly fop. Their love would always be tainted by the dark roots from which it had bloomed and Erik did not know if he could force himself to willingly choose that.

But if this guilt, this terrible guilt, was only the result of a few careful lies...what horror would come from rebuilding a new false life? Could love really be called love, if it was the result of lies and manipulation?

When Erik returned to the camp he sat in miserable silence, not engaging in conversation with either Nadir or Pali as they gently tried to coax him with teasing and humour. He did not react when Nadir became frustrated and angry, throwing accusations and being held back from shaking his shoulders by a thoughtful Pali. He simply remained in a gloomy corner, his eyes troubled and his face ashen.

Pali, having not seen Erik since he was a scrawny little boy, did not know how he was normally brought out of these spells of depression. Knowing that Nadir was far too annoyed to help, he decided to leave Erik alone and instead find the one person who would cheer him up no matter the mood he was in.

Christine was changing into her dress for the evening performance- it would be the first time she had seen Erik in a few days, since her increased number of chores had left her unavailable for evening performances or daytime outings- when Pali barged into her tent without so much as a greeting to warn her. She screamed and leapt for the blanket crumpled on the floor, hiding behind it and screeching at the oblivious man that he should get out of the tent.

"Mademoiselle, please listen to me!" he pleaded, and Christine tried very hard to look angry. But this was difficult, as she was bright red and covered only by a blanket.

"I am happy to listen to you Pali, once I am dressed!"

"No, please, it is a matter of urgency!"

She gave an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes, but stopped talking and nodded to motion that he should continue.

"I'm sorry to intrude on you like this." He said, his eyes going to her strange appearance and making her glare angrily at him. "But...there is something wrong with Erik."

Christine stopped angrily playing with the edge of the blanket in her shock, trying desperately not to show her astonishment on her face. She did not like to imagine that there could be something wrong with Erik, that he might be ill or sad. He was far too nice a person to be upset or suffering and the thought of it made her feel quiet distressed, so much so that she had to take a few moments to ensure that her voice would be calm and controlled when she spoke.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She and Pali could both hear the strain in her voice, and for some baffling reason Pali smile as he heard this. "But as much as I do not want Erik to be ill or sad, I don't know why you have come to tell me at this moment when-"

"I have come to tell you because I think that you should go and see him, Christine."

"What!" she spluttered, looking at Pali as if he were insane. "I will see him when we perform, Pali! Why would I go to him now, when I will see him in less than half an hour?!"

Pali stopped smiling, his childlike manner crumbling with the severity of the moment. His dark eyes looked troubled and even torn in such a way that Christine felt her heart speed up in worry, the sensation nauseating and aching inside her for reasons that had no rational explanation.

"Christine...I have noticed something, from watching you sing together." Pali spoke softly, and Christine found that she was leaning forward to catch the words. "Erik is my friend- I know him well. He is a troubled soul, more than you will comprehend, and he is very alone and very uncomfortable with gypsy life. He is not here through choice, though had the situation been different, I know that he would have left the clan by now. He remains here because of you, I think, because of your company and the solace it brings him. It would mean the world to him if you went to him out of concern- if you showed him with such a gesture that you value his friendship."

"Oh, Pali, I can hardly believe that I could have such affect on him!" Christine forced a shaking laugh, wondering why her heart was now fluttering-yes, fluttering, as if a butterfly were encased within her chest. "It is I who dissolves into silly tears every other moment, it is I who requires a patient person to listen to my feeble tears! How can I be making him happy when I do nothing except exist?"

Pali looked at her sternly.

"He finds comfort in you, Christine. And I think, if you would, that he would be far happier for a visit from you."

Christine didn't know how to reply, or if she even could reply, to such a comment. As she quietly ushered Pali outside and returned to dressing as quickly as she could, she found herself remembering his words over and over, as if they were now embedded in her mind. She tried to analyse them, figure out if Pali was suggesting something else altogether from those words that made no sense, until her head ached in complaint.

Even as she left the tent and nodded her agreement, trailing silently behind Pali and looking up to see the beautiful dusk sky streaked with fire, she continued to torture herself with the seemingly unfathomable puzzle; how could Erik, a near total stranger whom she had latched onto for comfort and companionship for no real reason save the fact he was seemingly like her, an outsider, be in any way comforted by her when she did nothing except be there beside him?

When they at last reached Erik's tent, and Pali gestured for her to go inside with a solemn nod, Christine was still feeling troubled and confused by Pali's observations that, to her perhaps ignorant mind, did not make any sense.

So when, upon hearing the gentle rustle of the tent that signalled her entrance, Erik looked up and instantly the sadness clouding his odd jewel eyes faded to happiness as he saw her, Christine felt paralysed- both by her honest amazement and the aching stagger of her long dormant heart within her chest as she stared back, locked into place by the expression on his face and the pure joy that danced in his eyes.

He _was_ happier to see her- then, without warning, amid the heady daydreams and staggering heartbeats, Christine Daae felt as if she were soaring up and above her mundane, dismal existence, utterly lost to the power, allure and emotion in his wide, jewel like eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: ****I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.**

**Author Note:**** Hello all! I have been saying for a while that I have scary exams coming up soon and that when it got close to that time, I would need to stop writing fanfiction for a little while so that I have the time to revise and so on. Well, my exams are in May and June, so I need to crack on with revision every waking moment and therefore this will be my last chapter until after my exams are finished. This story is all pre-written on paper, I'm not abandoning it, just postponing it until after the horrible exams are done :-)**

**If Erik had to take exams, I bet he would have been disqualified for throttling someone who sneezed or coughed and distracted him. And I don't think silence would work well for him...he'd have to hum his favourite arias over and over just to keep concentrating :-D **

**This chapter is probably quite suitable to leave you with, anyway. I don't know why, but I always imagined that a drunk Christine would be hilarious, especially with Erik running around after her, trying to stop her from doing crazy things!**

**Reviews are, as always, very much appreciated. So a huge thank you to those who reviewed last chapter; MarilynKC, ListenToTheRainS2, TMara and Filhound. **

**Enough of me, onto the chapter :-)**

**Eight- Heart of Fire**

_It was dark, dark and quiet, the only light in the room a pearlescent shimmer that came from the moon. The shadows made the usually bright and sunny space seem forbidding and gothic, the eerie shine from the mirror as the milky moonlight hit the smooth surface unnerving. Behind this mirror, palms flat against the cool glass and eyes burning, Erik studied Christine Daae. _

_His yellow eyes were intently focused on her, watching her every move, her every breath. He oversaw how she played with one perfect tendril of her tumbling brown curls that had escaped from her elaborate hairstyle, how she bit her full rose lips, how she continually smoothed the bodice of her dress and touched her hair uselessly every few minutes, her eyes roaming the room and always resting on the door handle before turning away again. In the gloomy shadows, her skin became as white as the moon itself, her eyes seeming to sparkle in the occasional light- she resembled an angel, a perfect, gorgeous, flawless angel and yet she was here, alone and hidden, in the darkness._

_Erik loved everything about Christine, of course he did, but it was times such as these where he wished for her sake that she would be less reserved- to allow the emotion in her heart to break free and burn as brightly as he knew it could. He knew she was passionate and emotional and wild when she wanted to be, as he saw and heard it whenever she sang. But now, sat in the darkness of her dressing room, pretending not to watch the clock and the door handle as she uneasily brushed her dress again, she was further from that emotional young woman than she had ever been._

_Erik stayed, the silent guard concealed behind the mirror, watching her for what seemed centuries but was in fact only an hour or so, his eyes not able to leave her. She stood and paced across the soft rug, and he had to hold back a gasp as he saw she was dressed like the epitome of elegance- hair pinned back elegantly, dress flattering her slender frame. It was clear she was supposed to be out somewhere, no doubt on the arm of her adored Vicomte who had been a permanent fixture by her side ever since their rooftop declarations. _

_As the door to the dressing room opened, and a beam of warm light shot into the room, Erik saw that is was Antoinette Giry stood in the doorway. Christine saw her and leapt up, rushing over to the woman's side, her face pleading._

"_The Vicomte has sent a message, my dear- he is now unable to take you out with him this evening, as business calls him out of Paris." The woman's words were gentle and kind, and Christine seemed to take strength from this, nodding sadly and glancing at her reflection in the very mirror Erik stood behind. "He says he is sorry, and will call for you another evening."_

"_Yes, it cannot be helped. Thank you, Madame Giry."_

_As soon as the older woman left, Christine violently pulled all the pins out of her hair and sank to a miserable heap on the floor, bending her head and letting tears trickle silently onto her hands, clasped in her lap. Erik watched her, feeling infinitely sorry for her but also angry- where was the Christine he knew? Why was she being so very weak and pathetic, crying because her fop couldn't come to her on just one night? Erik tore his eyes away from her and strode away from the mirror, back down to his dark pit of solitude, feeling suddenly afraid that it was he who had destroyed the spirit in Christine Daae and put out the fire in her heart._

The sound of ridiculous laughter pulled Erik harshly out of his melancholy musings, the warmth of the night air and the infinite darkness above him, scattered with brilliant white stars, a shock after the gloomy setting of his miserable memories. The brightly coloured tents and clothes of the gypsies were illuminated by the light being thrown out by a huge bonfire- an immense stack of logs crowned with a flaming triumph of orange, flickering fire, crackling and spitting and sending showers of sparks into the night as if it were something out of an old fairytale. There were no visitors to the clan tonight- from what Erik had managed to distinguish from the drunken babble earlier, one of the gypsy women had given birth to a boy, a son to one of the elders, and this had been the perfect excuse to light a fire and gorge barrel upon barrel of beer, wine and cider, apparently.

Despite all his scathing remarks to Nadir, Erik did feel warmed by the atmosphere; the people talking and laughing, the music, the carefree sensation of having nothing to fear or worry about stood amongst these bright people. And, of course, there was Christine. Erik saw her amongst the gypsy women, crowded round the woman cradling a baby as if it were a fine jewel or precious treasure. Christine had a huge, beaming smile stretched across her face as she picked up the child and held it, exclaiming something to the mother and causing all the other females to laugh and cluster round her. She looked as if she were in her element, immersed in the moment, and Erik was stupidly astonished to see that the image of Christine cradling a baby and smiling happily seemed right- perfect.

"Don't look so surprised." Nadir's voice appeared out of nowhere, startling Erik when he turned to see that the Persian had come to stand beside him, also staring at the cluster of women, giving an irritated sigh as he turned back to Erik. "Christine is a young woman, Erik, not a child. If things had occurred differently in Paris, she might be married to the Vicomte by now, a wife and maybe a mother."

"I- I never thought of her that way." Erik replied honestly, still staring at Christine, who noticed his gaze and smiled broadly at him, passing the child to its mother before rushing over to where he and Nadir were stood.

As soon as Christine made it over to them, cheeks flushed pink with excitement and eyes glowing as she took in the sights of the gypsy celebration, Pali stopped doing his mad drunken dance and gave her a clumsy embrace, the wine cup he clutched tipping and sloshing whatever ruby elixir lay within all over himself and the leafy carpet beneath their feet. Christine was laughing and Erik could not help but smile as he watched, wondering if he ought to be concerned by how inebriated the gypsy already was. He released her with another ridiculous drunken laugh, letting her stumble over to Erik and lean slightly on him, weak with her childish giggling that made his heart flip inside his chest.

Pali drunkenly went to embrace Nadir, but the Persian man gave an irritable sigh and gripped the gypsy by one of his spindly arms, dragging him off to dunk his head in a bucket of freezing cold water, no doubt.

"I think Pali has angered Monsieur Khan, Erik." Christine laughed, catching sight of the dancers and tugging on Erik's arm like a child, urging him to move with her to stand closer so that she might watch the dance. The dancers were throwing batons of fire into the crisp night air, leaving scarlet trails dancing in her eyes, making her heart stutter every moment she thought they might miss and be burned by the hot flames. She seemed utterly taken with the dancers, and Erik found this amusing.

"Oh, Nadir is simply a boring old man who is aware that he is old fashioned and stale." Erik replied warmly, unnerved by how close the dancers were coming to where they stood, their painted eyes wide and unearthly, their arms outstretched and their hands beckoning. They looked like fiery creatures out of his opera, Don Juan Triumphant, and the similarity was not a comfortable thing to observe.

"Erik!" Christine gasped before giggling again- there was something strange about her this evening, something that could not be put down to the excitement of the atmosphere. As she darted out to grab two mugs of some toxic smelling amber substance, that burnt his nose when he smelt it, Erik realised that Christine was edging towards being well and truly drunk. "Here- have this. I think it's cider."

"You think?" Erik replied warily, alarmed that she was already happily swigging the foul smelling stuff without a thought towards its origin. Conscious of the fact that he had already criticised Nadir for being boring and old fashioned, Erik eyed the mug of cider cautiously and lifted it to his lips. "Hm. Well. I suppose it can't hurt."

Christine had already downed hers in a few gulps and had already reached for another, leaving Erik gaping at her half in amusement, half in horror. Part of him wanted to reach for the disgusting drink and take it away from her, but Nadir had reminded him of his over protective stance earlier by reminding him that Christine was not a child. Besides, no matter how their friendship was blooming, such fatherly acts would no doubt come across as a little odd, if not completely annoying.

One thing he did notice, though- whether it be from the drink, the gypsy influence or simply the freedom- was that the spirited side of Christine Daae was growing in confidence again. She had withered and weakened and relied upon Raoul to solve all her problems and worries in Paris, as if she were a puppet and he the puppeteer, but now she was blooming into a stronger, more independent woman. Erik did not think that her memory loss was good, not for one moment...but if it did restore the part of Christine that had appeared to crumble and vanish, it would hardly be a bad thing.

The dancers were coming closer, intruding on what Erik would deem to be 'personal space', their hands reaching as if to ensnare them both and engulf them into the mass of dancers. Erik stepped back with a venomous look at them, tearing his arm back as one gripped onto him, fingers like tendrils and eyes wide and hypnotic, as if hoping to lure him into the trance. But he knew it was all a silly game- with another low hiss of rage, he tried to fight the urge to spit various insults at them and push them all to the ground. Christine, however, closed her eyes and smiled, tipping her head back as she allowed herself to be pulled into the swirling mass of flames and colour, slipping into the fluid dance as if she had always been there, her dress flying out around her as her feet- dainty, ballerina feet- lithely leapt and span. Her brown curls flew out in a similar manner to her dress, as if each tendril was energised and alive.

For the second time in the evening, Erik was faced with an image of Christine Daae that seemed to fit perfectly, as if she were destined to be there. Amid the dancers she was brimming with energy, alive and alight with joy, a complete contradiction to everything Erik had come to feel regarding these gypsies. Though he did not believe that the gypsies had kidnapped her from him under the opera house that night so long ago- that was a mystery he and Nadir were still puzzling over, dredging up every possibility they could think of- he still held them responsible for the miserable year she had spent travelling with them.

He was frozen with indecision and doubt, wondering if he ought to storm into the circling, swooping spiral of colour and drag her out of there, but even he was taken with watching her; she looked free, no longer a trapped bird in a cage. He had never been that free in the clan, never been so joyful or spirited.

"_Come in, come in, good Monsieur's and Madame's! Come in and see the Spawn of Satan, the Living Death, the Devil's Child here on earth!"_

_The stench of the sacking was ripped away from his face, his lungs at last greeted with untainted air, but then there were the crowds and the garish light and the jeers, the screams, the curses damning him to Hell. They stared and gawped and clustered round the bars, faces twisted with malice and sadistic thirst for torture and blood, desperate to see the Devil's Child contorted with pain. The name, the cage- did it really strip him of humanity? Could they not see that he was a child, a frail child, crying in the darkness? The men hurled missiles of bottles and flaming bundles of straw, the glass and the burning grasses scorching and stinging his skin, his face stained with blood and tears. The women screamed, the children cried, but no one pitied him. They shrieked their disgust and crowded him like seagulls round a rotting fish- they did not care to know his past, his story, his pain. All they wanted was the satisfaction of seeing someone lesser than them, seeing the blood weep from the cuts they inflicted, someone to blame and someone to gawp at and feel better about themselves as they assured each other that they were not so pathetic, so wretched, so disgusting. There was someone lesser than them, someone to make them feel better about their miserable selves, and for that they would pay their coins to the laughing Javert, happy to remain oblivious as the child with the deformed face and the wide, imploring eyes retreated to the back of the cage and collapsed there, the tears silently trickling down his grimy, bloodstained face as if they were meant to be there._

Erik was snapped out of the horrific recollection by the sound of enthusiastic cheering and clapping- alert and concerned, his eyes were instantly drawn to Christine, watching as the dancers broke away and went into the night in search of drink, leaving her laughing and stumbling, accepting praise and alcohol from the onlookers. She was smiling manically, breathless and ecstatic, a hectic splash of colour on her cheeks. She caught sight of where Erik was stood and stumbled over to him, so breathless from the wild dancing that she almost fell into his arms when she reached him, giggling feebly as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

Erik tried to right her and help her to stand, but she clung onto him, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms around him, sighing dreamily as she did so. Erik tried desperately to do the gentlemanly thing and urged her in a low voice to release him and stand up, but as she refused and proceeded to tighten her hold on him, he felt a warm glow seep slowly through him. The music from earlier- a screeching fiddle, hand drums and a small flute of some description- picked up again and Christine began to sway to the sound, gently coaxing Erik until they were waltzing very slowly.

"My father used to do this with me all the time when I was little." She murmured into Erik's chest, the embrace seeming to have calmed her down. Funny, Erik thought distantly, she may be calmer but my heart is pounding. Christine was oblivious to this erratic heartbeat and the stares of the other gypsies. "He used to stand me on his feet and we would whirl and spin- of course, he was the one stepping and turning but I felt as if I was some beautiful, brilliant dancer. We would sing the appropriate piece that was supposed to accompany whatever dance we were doing, pretending that we were at a rich party with a full orchestra and wearing lavish clothes... Sometimes I would decide to sing complete and utter nonsense, something that I made up on the spot, and if he liked it enough to add it to his own works, he would give a great cry and pick me up and charge into the parlour, me giggling like a mad thing. There he would scribble frantically and spill ink all over the place and pull the most dreadful faces until it was all down on a score sheet. When the tune was done, and he would play it over and over to test it, he would make a great show out of my little contribution- Christine's bar, or Christine's trill, marked with a splodge of ink. I only wish I still had all his music, though I don't know where on Earth that would be now-"

She cut off suddenly mid rant, freezing and staring suddenly up into Erik's eyes, dizzy and confused and childlike as they seemed to beg for love and attention. A lump caught in Erik's throat and he reached out and stroked her face- normally such an act would make her feel a little uneasy, but her mind was clouded, so she did not react except to close her eyes momentarily to savour the touch.

"He had such hopes for me. He used to brag about me to anyone he met, declaring all these amazing things that I didn't understand at the time. He put such care and attention into me, wasted his own chances to ensure that I would flourish, continued to be the devoted father even when he was so ill and weak he could barely stand-" she broke off suddenly, tears collecting in her eyes and her face crumpling as she dissolved into tears. "And now look at me! Abandoned, stuck in a disgusting caravan troupe with people who do not care, with no success or achievement to speak of- I didn't even have friends to tell me what I could not remember! What a waste of my father's time and love- he should never have placed so much trust in me. I am nothing compared to him."

"Christine, don't say such things." Erik said in a low voice, feeling her shake her head violently. "You are not to blame for your lack of recollection or your place in the clan. You are a credit to your father, who was a great man to raise such an honest, kind, talented young woman."

Erik knew Christine was drunk, which would explain why she was letting these words slip carelessly from her mouth, things she would normally have kept concealed in her normal state of mind. He turned to look at where his own mug of cider was perched atop a barrel, untouched, and he recalled that she must have drunk at least four servings of cider. In that moment, Erik was glad he had never really taken to drink like that, only ever having the taste for small amounts of the best quality alcoholic beverages if pushed. He could only imagine what he would come out with when drunk like Christine was now- the emotional outlet that would pour senselessly from his mouth might scare off even the toughened Nadir.

Seeing that Christine's tears had stopped, but that she still had a troubled look plaguing her beautiful features, Erik took the chance to stroke her feather soft cheek again. This time she smiled, holding perfectly still before going limp again and leaning against him, sighing contentedly. Drunken Christine was unaffected by what would have been definite awkwardness in normal conversation- Erik did not have to guard the deep expression in his eyes, or be careful of what he said to her. She seemed to savour the embraces and words that would normally make her step backwards, alarmed by how familiar he was acting. Surely, he told himself over the pounding of his aching heart and gasping shallow breaths, this must be proof that somewhere inside her heart she remembers loving me.

"You know something, Erik? You remind me of my father sometimes. That must be why I like you so much." She decided and proclaimed in a sleepy voice, her logic hazy. "Because it is strange, isn't it? That two strangers, that is you and I, could be like this so suddenly- feel as if we have known each other for longer than we have. Strange..."

"Christine-" Erik went to speak, not knowing what he actually wanted to say but feeling compelled to do so, voice achingly desperate and sad. It was not often that Erik felt simply sad- angry, enraged, hysterical, distraught...all of those he regularly experienced. But there was something harrowing about feeling simply sad- it was a deflated emotion, as if hope was gone.

"You- you say my name as if...as if it is the most precious thing in the world to you." Christine cut him off quietly, opening her eyes very wide and staring right at him. It was as if, in that moment, she was not drunk and senseless- as if the realisation had cut through all that and struck her right to the core. "As if I am all that matters to you."

"You are." He whispered, brokenly, but to his relief and also to his dismay she did not hear him for then Pali came bounding over, laughing gleefully and looking a little damp, a tell tale sign that Nadir had in fact tried to sober up the gangly gypsy with cold water- but it had not worked at all. Christine immediately untangled her limp arms from Erik in order to fling them about Pali's scrawny neck instead, both of them snickering senselessly and stumbling around.

Erik watched as they began a strange dance that had no connection to the out-of-time whine that was echoing from the fiddle player, smiling to himself. She was so bold, so unlike the past when she had barely said a word to anyone. Again, Erik found himself musing over her apparent change in character- the drink helped her confidence, dulling her senses and allowing her to be carefree and embarrassing to her heart's content, but there were other things too. There was no Vicomte to hide behind, no ballet chorus to fall into, and it was clear just from watching her dance with a drunken gypsy.

This was Christine Daae as Erik remembered her before the terror he had inflicted by revealing his human form; not the girl who was desperate to hide amongst the others or simply obey orders and keep her mouth shut, but a girl who knew her own mind, who was passionate and emotional and brave if she wanted to be. A girl who would leap into a dance she didn't know and love every second of it. A girl who would waltz around the room with her father, singing made-up violin concertos. A girl who might learn to look beyond the surface and love the man behind the monster...

Perhaps the part of Christine Daae he believed was long gone and destroyed might just be lying dormant inside her heart, waiting to be fuelled into its full, burning glory. He could certainly see it in her now.

Nadir caught sight of Erik staring up at the stars, a thoughtful look on his face, and he eventually battled through the thick crowd of gypsies and made it to stand beside him. He looked towards Christine, smiled and touched Erik's arm with an urgent hand, gesturing to the dancing Christine.

"Erik, you might want to see this."

So Erik tore his eyes away from the stars and looked at Christine again, expecting to see her and Pali still dancing together, but the actual sight was far better- he felt his mouth drop open with astonishment and his heart begin to pound to a new rhythm of hope and glowing optimism.

For there she was, Christine Daae, abandoning Pali to dance to her own imaginary tune. Only this time she did not dance like a gypsy- she danced like a chorus girl of the Opera Populaire, pirouetting and leaping and pointing her toes as she commanded the attention of every onlooker. She didn't know it, but she was dancing a set routine, one drilled into her by Antoinette Giry long ago for the opera Hannibal. Nadir was saying something but Erik was far too busy caught up in the excitement of the moment to hear him- she remembered something else from those long gone days of the past! He waited for her to finish before rushing over to her, already planning what he would say, trying to provoke her memories to come tumbling back, laughing as if it were he who was the drunkard.

"Christine, that was amazing! You could be a ballerina!" he exclaimed as soon as he reached her and she shoved him a little and rolled her eyes. "Truly, you could! That routine- well, it looked as if it were from an opera, choreographed by a ballet mistress! Did you dance as well as sing in your childhood, Christine?"

Erik was joined by Nadir and Pali, and Christine backed away a few steps from them, confused as to why they huddled round her and stared at her with similarly desperate expressions, as if their lives depended on her words. She wondered if she was imagining it, if the drink had made her conjure up this expression that was mirrored on each of their faces. She shook her head, dazed, and wished that she hadn't for the motion made her feel faint and dizzy.

"I'm afraid that I cannot recall." She said in an oddly calm voice, before collapsing to the floor without warning. All three men dove for her, even inebriated Pali, and they cushioned her slump to the ground with their arms, allowing Erik to gently lift her back up again and cradle her as if she were a child. She was completely limp and a worrying shade of white.

"That would be the cider, then." Pali smothered a laugh, reaching forwards to pick a leaf out of the dishevelled mass of her curls. "A mad old man brewed it in the nearby village and it's stronger than it looks! She'll be sleepy for a loooong time."

"It isn't funny, Pali!" Erik hissed menacingly, stepping back and moving Christine out of the gypsy's reach. "And besides, it wasn't that putrid muck that you're all swigging that caused this- it was you two, crowding round her like that. It was like vultures swarming a corpse, you vile asses!"

"So are we overlooking the fact that it was _you_ who asked the damn question in the first place?!" Nadir snapped, eyes flashing. "What a stupid thing to say anyway- 'you could be a ballerina Christine, oh yes you could, ignoring the fact that YOU ALREADY ARE AND I'M JUST LYING TO YOU ABOUT EVERYTHING!"

"DON'T TRY MY PATIENCE KHAN!"

"THEN DON'T BE SUCH A BLOCKHEAD!"

"I'LL STOP BEING A BLOCKHEAD WHEN YOU STOP BEING A POMPOUS BIGOT!"

Pali leapt between them, fearful that the argument would turn into a fully blown fist fight, and whilst doing so he almost smacked the unconscious Christine in the face with his flailing arms. Erik snarled at him and clutched Christine closer to him, a seething mass of black and red. Pali only had to look at him to know that there would be no friendly reconciliation between him and the Persian, who was equally enraged, tonight.

"Erik, go and put Christine in her tent." Pali cautioned, the near fight having pierced the drunkenness and leaving him almost sober. He was relieved when Erik nodded curtly and stormed off, muttering obscenities under his breath and leaving Pali to calm down the raging Nadir. "In honesty, Nadir, I am surprised that you are both still alive- I thought you would have killed one another before now, you argue so much!"

Erik refused his anger the pleasure of turning round to look at Nadir's irritable face, knowing that it would only end badly if he did so. He strode on, his booted feet crashing through the undergrowth and narrowly missing various wooden stumps and ropes that held the tents in their sloppy upright position, all hanging so haphazardly Erik was astonished to find that they never seemed to collapse. He knew his way to Christine's tent well, as he walked her back through the dark every night after they sung together for the crowds, and he also therefore knew that although Christine was meant to share this tent with several other girls, she was never joined by them. They all stole off to the tents of various men.

This meant that Erik had no worries about striding straight into the tent, knowing that no one else would be inside. He laid Christine down on the blankets and cushions that served as a bed, and sat heavily down beside her, not knowing if he should leave or stay. He certainly didn't want to go back to Pali and Nadir, not now.

Christine shifted a little in a sleep, mumbling something and stretching her arms out before she seemed to settle and fall into a peaceful sleep, her face suddenly looking the same as when she was seven years old. He gingerly reached out to stroke her wild curls, his hand trembling as he took in how she was still so achingly beautiful, both on the surface and below that. She smiled in her sleep, her words unintelligible for the most part, but then they became clearer, and Erik could understand what she was sleep talking about.

"Meg...no don't, please...Meg don't leave me-"

Meg. Erik recalled the chirpy blonde girl with a fond smile, remembering how she and Christine had been the best of friends. It was a comforting thought that, even though her conscious couldn't remember much, clearly deep inside her mind Christine's memories still existed. Why they were out of her reach, or why she could apparently dream about such things but then not remember when she woke, was still unclear but Erik was happy to be content with the knowledge that the memories were not erased entirely.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Christine began to thrash wildly, writhing as if she were on fire and screaming aloud in such a way that made Erik feel as if his heart were about to explode in shock and terror. He hovered beside her, uselessly, unable to shake her awake as she began to cry out, real tears streaking down her face.

"No! NO! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Please, forgive me- please! I'm sorry, please don't- I didn't mean to! I'm-"

He found her hands and gripped them in his own, feeling them as cold as ice. He was terrified, completely ignorant of what he could do to help her, but then her eyes shot open and she struggled frantically to sit up, confused and scared, looking all around her with eyes that weren't really seeing. But then she seemed to notice Erik, and with a sob she crawled towards him, reaching for him and he wrapped his arms tightly around her and crushed her to his chest, feeling her quivering like a frightened animal. It was that nightmare she had described- the nightmare about _him_.

"Erik, Erik you're here." She wept, her face flushed red and tear stained, curls sticking to her cheeks in the sweat and the salty tears.

"And I'm not leaving. I'll keep you safe, Christine, I promise. You don't need to be scared- I'm here."

Christine slowly drew back from his fierce embrace, her eyes looking into his own as if she had looked into his soul.

Then, without even a word and taking Erik completely by surprise, she reached out and placed a hand on each side of his face, pulling him down and crushing his lips against her own.

Erik felt like a flower in the desert suddenly granted with the glorious elixir of rain- he seemed to come alive, his lips melting into hers and his arms slipping around her as if they were destined to be there, drawing her closer to him. His breathing hectic, he slipped his hands into the wild mass of curls and savoured the honey sweetness of her soft mouth, his mind bombarded with so many memories of that night, that glorious night beneath the opera house before it all went so very wrong, that he was crying before he could even stop the tears.

Christine broke away from him, stroking the unmasked side of his face and wiping a tear away, her eyes burning as she stared into his, her breathing fast and frantic.

"Don't cry, Erik- this is just a dream, you know. Just a dream..."

She kissed him again, lingering and feverish, her eyes already closing, her lids heavy with sleep, and as Erik broke the embrace and placed her carefully back down onto her blankets and cushions he saw that she was already back into a deep sleep. She had kissed him, asleep- she had not truly been awake.

Erik lifted her cold hand to his face and pressed his swollen lips against it, kissing the soft skin over and over as the foolish weeping began, not evening knowing why. He loved her, oh he loved her and she was so close, yet so very far away.

"Oh Christine, I love you so much my heart could break." He murmured in a soft, tear stained voice, knowing from the painful throbbing in his chest that in many ways, it already had.


End file.
